Hickerson Family Tapestry Woven from the 1798 Wilkes County Tax List – 52 Ancestors #432

Recently, three new resources have allowed me to review the information I’ve collected about my Wilkes County, NC, families with fresh eyes. What I’ve found is amazing, as is the light it shines on life in Wilkes County right at the turn of the 18th century. I thought there wasn’t anything left to find, given that I’ve been to Wilkes County extracting records multiple times, as well as to the North Carolina State Archives. I’m very pleasantly surprised.

This information is not readily available from any set of indexed records, anyplace, but it is these resources.

  1. Jason Duncan’s book titled 1798 Wilkes County, NC Tax List, in which he has transcribed the most in-depth and detailed tax list I’ve ever seen – including the size of the house, outbuildings, and even the construction material of the house and roof. You can order his book, here.
  2. Jason Duncan’s transcribed (and free) Wilkes County, NC, Land Grants WITH MAP, here.
  3. FamilySearch’s Full Text AI Search to discover and further flesh out information not previously available, such as court documents and references in deeds where people were involved but not the primary subject. Buyer and seller, for example, are generally indexed, but others mentioned aren’t, and there’s pure gold in those nuggets.

I’m telling you what, this trifecta is simply INCREDIBLE!

Not only that, but I was able to use Jason’t land grant map to find his land today and “drive” up the road through his property using Google Maps. Not approximately his property – exactly, unquestionably his property.

In addition, I discovered an amazing nugget by rechecking my Hickerson cousin’s Y-DNA results again.

I’ll take you through these steps one by one.

Here’s the first article I wrote using these tools, which provided a great deal of additional information about the Braddock Harris “assault” case, including the identity of his intended victim, Ann Alexander.

That article is connected to this article because Braddock Harris married my ancestor Charles Hickerson’s daughter, Rachel, about that same time or shortly thereafter.

Wouldn’t you love to know the dynamics of all of that? Let’s just say the Hickerson family was “very interesting.”

What would Jason’s book reveal?

Jason’s Book

I began by finding each ancestor in Jason’s book, thinking it would be a quick extract for my families who lived in Wilkes County. However, there was so much information by combining those resources that I quickly discovered that I needed to write an additional article for each family.

Making things more complex, though, is the fact that these people didn’t exist in a vacuum up on the mountainside. I find their records intermixed in unexpected ways.

I did expect to find some family groups who lived as near neighbors, intermarried, and eventually migrated to Claiborne County, Tennessee, together, but what I didn’t expect to find was a mixture across those groups back in Wilkes County. In part because they didn’t live in the same area, and mountain travel was challenging. Well, surprise.

  1. The McDowell family intermarried with the Harrold/Harrell/Herrell family, so I expected their records to be intermixed.
  2. The Vannoy and Hickerson families intermarried, and the McNiel, Rash and Sheppard families intermarried, then those two groups intermarried too.

I suspect attending the same or different churches had a lot to do with this phenomenon.

Around 1810, members of both family groups moved another 100 miles or so across and through treacherous mountains and settled in Claiborne County, TN, near the Virginia border in what would eventually become Hancock County, TN. Their association with each other began earlier than I expected, but the two family groups didn’t actually merge (in my line) until my grandparents married.

This article focuses on the Hickerson family, so let’s do a short recap of what we know to set the stage for what we discover.

The Hickerson Family of Wilkes County, NC

Charles Hickerson was the progenitor of the Hickerson family in Wilkes County. He lived in this area before Wilkes was formed from Surry County, which was formed from Rowan County, where he was found in late 1771, witnessing a will for Lydia Stewart.

In 1775, on the tax list, Charles Hickerson was living between Francis Vannoy, who is listed with Leonard Miller, and Daniel Vannoy, Hickerson’s future son-in-law who would marry his daughter, Sarah Hickerson, a few years later. Leonard Miller married Charles Hickerson’s daughter, Jane, around 1782.

In 1776, Charles, then about 50 years old, set out on the Rutherford Expedition in which Cherokee towns were destroyed as part of the Revolutionary War.

In 1778, Charles Hickerson was serving on juries in Wilkes County as most landowners did in that time and place.

In March of 1779, Charles Hickerson had John Robins Sr., his neighbor, arrested for trespass, which typically means they are having a land dispute.

Hickerson’s original land grant for 320 acres in 1779 was located on both sides of Mulberry Creek and was witnessed by his son, David Hickerson.

Map courtesy Jason Duncan’s Wilkes land grant maps at http://webjmd.com/wilkeslandgrants/grantstable.html

Keep in mind that Charles Hickerson had clearly been living there for several years, probably more than two decades. Wilkes County was not formed until 1778, and land could not be granted until after the Revolutionary War when the State of North Carolina had land available to grant.

Prior to that, this part of Wilkes County was Surry County. Before the Revolutionary War, land in what would become Wilkes County was granted from the Granville District by John Carteret, the Second Earl of Granville, one of eight men who received large tracts of North Carolina in 1730 because they helped King Charles regain the throne. No land was granted in the Granville District after Carteret’s death in 1763 until after the culmination of the Revolutionary War, but people were still settling there nonetheless.

Land was staked out or claimed by marking trees with hatchets, known colloquially as hatchet claims, as the first step in the process. The next steps might not take place for many years, if ever.

Three years after the 1779 suit between Charles Hickerson and John Robins was filed, in August 1782, it was heard and found for Hickerson, with Robins having to pay seven pounds, 10 shillings, and costs. 

The incident with Braddock Harris occurred in 1786, which is also about the time Braddock married Charles Hickerson’s daughter, Rachel. If you’re shocked by Charles Hickerson allowing his daughter to marry a man who had been convicted of a violent assault on a young woman, then punished and humiliated publicly outside the courthouse, so was I.

By 1786, Charles Hickerson’s life was coming unraveled. He was not a young man, probably older than 60, and his family life was volatile and increasingly violent. Charles was arrested on a charge of trespass brought by his son-in-law, Daniel Vannoy, who had been married to his daughter, Sarah Hickerson, since 1779.

There’s no way to know what trespass meant in this connotation, but trespass suits over land disputes didn’t typically result in the sheriff being ordered to go and physically apprehend the person.

Something was up.

This was followed in 1787 by a suit filed by Daniel Vannoy against Charles Hickerson, “for words,” which is slander.

Whoo boy things were getting hot and spicey.

Unfortunately, the year is incomplete on another document, although this was found in the 1785-1787 court records.

The sheriff confiscated the property of Daniel Vannoy, who apparently lost one of those two suits, which clearly affected Charles Hickerson’s daughter, Sarah, Daniel’s wife.

Was Charles alright? His family seems deeply embroiled in increasingly violent feuding, including Charles granting permission for his daughter to marry a man convicted of an extremely violent act.

I actually wonder if something had happened to Charles, like maybe a stroke or accident resulting in a brain injury, as he seems to have become very combative beginning about 1779. Was his decision-making ability or judgment impaired?

In 1788, Charles Hickerson sold 150 acres of his land on Mulberry Creek to his son, David Hickerson, “being the survey that Charles Hickerson now lives on.” His wife, Mary Lytle Hickerson’s will in 1793 does not mention Charles, indicating that he was already deceased.

This means that the other 170 acres of Charles’ 320-acre land grant was likely sold to someone, but who, and when?

Many of these land grants weren’t actually filed or surveyed for years, which means that the actual grant date is much later than the family began inhabiting, improving, and farming the land. Land grants weren’t free. It cost money to file the grant and also for the survey. Often, claims were abandoned or passed hand to hand for cash, given that ownership, in the traditional sense, didn’t yet exist. Only occupation and improvements to the property, like clearing fields and building homesteads – creating farms from dense woodlands. In families, often at death, deeds were simply passed hand to hand and sometimes not registered for generations.

Charles was recorded on the census in 1790 but had died before his wife, Mary, passed away in December of 1793, with a will.

The end of Charles’s life was anything but peaceful. Not only was his daughter Rachel Hickerson Harris’s house burned in 1789, his other daughter, Jane, who married Leonard Miller, was somehow involved, and in 1793, John Roberts was found guilty of that arson.

It was just a huge, ugly, dangerous mess.

Let’s take a brief moment to recap what we know about Charles Hickerson’s children.

Charles Hickerson’s Child Spouse Comments
Jane Hickerson was born about 1760 Married Leonard Miller before 1782 and appears to have “divorced” before 1800. He moved to SC.

Jane may have remarried to John Reynolds in Wilkes in 1806.

Jane concealed goods from her sister Rachel’s home robbery and arson in 1789. Convicted in 1793 in extremely unflattering terms. Later seems to have reconciled with Rachel as she later testified on her behalf.
Sarah Hickerson was born 1752-1760 Married Daniel Vannoy in 1779. Bought land in what would become Ashe County in 1779. He sold personal property the day after the Hickerson vs Vannoy conviction in 1794, sold his land in 1795, and disappeared entirely from all records.
Rachel Hickerson was probably born before 1766 Married Braddock Harris about 1786, moved from Wilkes after 1793. In March of 1789, John Roberts robbed and burned the Harris home.
David Hickerson was born about 1750-1760 Married Sarah Ann Talifaferro circa 1781. Leaves around 1809 for Coffee Co., TN. In 1793, he sued John Roberts for slander.
Joseph Hickerson was born probably before 1760 Married Ann Green or Greer. In 1793, Joseph and Samuel Hickerson testified against Leonard Miller and Jane Hickerson Miller but Joseph apparently stayed out of the rest of the mess.
Mary Hickerson Stewart Husband was probably Samuel Stewart/Steward, son of Lydia Stewart. The Hickerson family had an association with the Stewart family in Rowan County in 1771. Son named Samuel Hickerson alias Stewart, as recorded by the court, may have been born before marriage. In 1793, Mary’s mother left Mary the contents of a chest and also named Samuel specifically. Mary may have left the state shortly thereafter.
Elizabeth Hickerson was born 1748-1768. Married a Stewart, probably a son of Lydia Stewart Wound up in Nacogdoches, TX, per 1877 letter from Elizabeth’s elderly daughter saying they left about 1794.

After both Charles Hickerson and his widow, Mary, had died, all Hell broke loose within the family. It’s hard to believe that the feuding could increase beyond what was already happening, but it did. They quarreled and fought with each other incessantly, and their dirty laundry was aired in the courtroom – fortunately for us today. I can only imagine how much we don’t know. The tidbits we have are just the tip of the iceberg, teasers about the long-forgotten truth.

Most family members eventually moved to other states, probably to escape the ugliness and violence. Some simply disappeared, which makes me wonder about what actually happened – especially to Daniel Vannoy who is never heard from again. I’m not sure I want to know.

After Mary Lytle Hickerson’s 1793 death, the lawsuits increased, with David Hickerson suing Daniel Vannoy, Samuel Stewart/Steward alias Little Dr. Hickerson suing Daniel Vannoy for slander, and Leonard Miller forfeiting his appearance in the cases after he had been subpoenaed. Translated, Leonard didn’t want to or was afraid to be involved and paid a hefty fine for that choice.

The court was insistent that Samuel, alias Little, Hickerson, alias Steward/Stewart appear in court, but he refused and did not. The multiple lawsuits weren’t resolved amicably, or at all. Instead, the situation continued to escalate. In November of 1794 the state indicted both Vannoy and Samuel Hickerson for assault and battery and fined David Hickerson.

The court must have been getting sick of this, too.

By the time the 1798 tax list was taken, Charles Hickerson had been buried someplace, probably on his own land, for between 5 and 8 years, and Mary had been gone for five years.

On the 1798 tax list, we show the two land entries for Charles Hickerson’s sons, David and Joseph.

David Hickerson owned three parcels of land totaling 368 acres, worth $501, as follows:

  • 196 acres on Mulberry valued at $95, with a 24 by 17 still house valued at $5. This makes me laugh because that stillhouse is larger than most homes. I’d wager that what was produced in the stillhouse was worth a great deal. A stillhouse might also explain a good bit of the feuding within this family.
  • 170 acres on Yadkin River at the mouth of Lewis Fork valued at $300. This is the right amount of land to be the remainder of his father’s land, but the wrong location, several miles distant across mountains.
  • 2 acres, no location given, with a 17 by 24 dwelling house that is 1 story with an 8-foot wide shed on one side, with a shingle roof valued at $90. There is also an 18 by 20 kitchen made of logs and covered with slabs valued at $11. Note that this dwelling house is the same size as the still house. That still house must have been huge, at least comparatively

David’s 1796 land grant is only for 50 acres on the banks of Mulberry Creek, crossing Piney Creek, adjacent his own line. This tells us that he has more than one piece of land in that location, even though it’s not accounted for in the land grants. The additional land is probably his father’s land from the 1788 deed conveyance.

The 150 acres he obtained from his father in 1788 does not seem to be broken out in 1798, unless it’s part of the 196 acres, but if so, where’s the house? Charles Hickerson lived on this plantation.

Joseph Hickerson has 150 acres valued at a total of $100 with the following details:

  • 150 acres on Mulberry adjoining David Hickerson valued at $61
  • 16 by 20 dwelling house, 1 story, hewed logs, shingle roof valued at $10
  • 12 by 16 kitchen, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $8
  • 10 by 16 barn, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $8
  • 12 by 16 blacksmith shop, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $1
  • Stable, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $2
  • 8 by 12 mill house, 1 story, logs, slab roof valued at $10

Joseph’s 1799 land grant shows as 100 acres on the waters of Mulberry. A second grant for the same amount, with the same file number, but a different grant number is in the same location generally, but unplaced on the map. He does not have 200 acres total, nor is the grant that is placed on Jason’s map adjacent his brother.

Given that Joseph’s grants aren’t dated until a year after this tax list, is it possible that this 150 acres adjacent David Hickerson is his father’s land? We know Charles Hickerson’s land was adjacent both Joseph and David’s land.

If this is Charles Hickerson’s original land, or at least part of it, this tells us that Charles probably had a mill and might have been a blacksmith, although perhaps Joseph built that shop. Regardless, Charles, David and Joseph would have all worked together. Their survival depended on it.

There’s one other 1798 tax entry that references a Hickerson. James Cast’s 60 acres on Hunting Creek is noted as being adjacent Samuel Hickerson, but there is no entry for Samuel Hickerson nor land grant for him. Samuel Hickerson would be aka Little Hickerson aka Samuel Stewart/Steward.

Expanding the Searches

I took this opportunity to use the new FamilySearch Full Text AI tool first in Wilkes County, then further afield. I removed all location filters and just searched for Charles Hickerson more broadly since we still don’t know where he came from before his arrival sometime before 1771 in Rowan County.

I didn’t find what I hoped for. If Charles was born around 1724, then he would have married maybe between 1745 and 1750. Did he own land before migrating to the new Carolina frontier?

FamilySearch continues to add records, so I’ll check back often.

Revisiting Hickerson Y-DNA

I also revisited the Y-DNA matches of our Hickerson cousin, who tested a few years ago, and discovered a pleasant surprise. My Hickerson cousin has a new haplogroup, I-FTC98093, which you can see here in Discover.

On his match list, we have a Hickerson male who is a Y-DNA STR match but who provided no genealogy information, so we need to reach out to him. If we are lucky, he will descend from a different line which will provide us with clues as to the ancestors of Charles Hickerson.

A second STR match whose ancestor, Everett Clyde Henderson, not Hickerson, was born in Illinois, died in Marion County, IN, and was married to Maud Johnson, who was born on Nov. 11, 1875, in Cass Co., Indiana. Fortunately, he has taken the Big Y-700 test and his haplogroup is I-FTC98093 – the same as our Hickerson cousin’s.

Things are getting mighty interesting!

Another Y-DNA match is also named Henderson, and his ancestor is Edward Henderson, born in 1735 in Hunterdon County, NJ, the same location where the Wilkes County Vannoy family originated before removing to the Jersey Settlement in NC about 1739.

Is this relevant? Maybe.

Given that our Hickerson cousin and the Henderson man match on both STR tests and the Big Y-700, and Discover tells us that their haplogroup was formed about 1400, this seems quite relevant. Haplogroup ages are refined as more men with that haplogroup test, so this date would become more concise with additional Hickerson or Henderson testers.

We need another Hickerson male and another Henderson male to upgrade to the Big Y-700 with the hope that the additional tests will allow the haplogroup date to be further refined, or additional branches defined. I don’t want to get too excited, though, because the genetic distance at 111 markers is 9, so their common ancestor could be back in the old country. Still, it would be wonderful to know we’re actually looking for Hendersons, not Hickersons. So far, our only identified Hickerson matches are to our known line through David Hickerson.

One VERY interesting aspect of Discover is the Ancient Connections, which are derived from archaeological excavations published in academic papers.

Click to enlarge image

All of the Ancient Connections haplogroup matches are of Viking origin, but one was found near St. John’s College in Oxford, England.

Our common Hickerson/Henderson ancestor with this man lived about 3900 years ago, probably in Sweden, based on the other Ancient Connections.

How cool is this???!!! Without the Big Y-700 test and Discover’s Ancient Connections, we would NEVER have been able to discern that our Hickersons were at one time Viking warriors – or at least we share ancestors with them.

Perhaps a little bit of Viking warrior influence carried over into the mountains of Wilkes County.

My Favorite Revelations

This article builds on our earlier knowledge of the Hickerson family by adding court records, land grants plotted on maps, and DNA matches, but my favorite tidbits were revealed in that 1798 tax list.

Even though Charles was already deceased, he really hadn’t been gone long. It’s very likely that one or both of his sons owned his land. We know positively that he sold part of his land to David in 1788. Wilkes County in 1798 was very much like Wilkes County a decade earlier, before Charles Hickerson, then Mary, died.

From the tax records of those men, we learned that David was by far the wealthier of the two brothers, with assets totaling five times what his brother, Joseph, had.

David’s dwelling house on the two-acre tract was 12X17, or 204 square feet, had a shingle roof, and was valued at $90. There’s no mention of an outside kitchen? Was the cooking done inside? And by whom?

The only structure on his 196-acre Mulberry property was a stillhouse of the exact same size as his house on his other property, but valued at $5.

Know what David doesn’t have? Barns or stables. No outbuildings whatsoever. That’s baffling because even if he didn’t have livestock, he had to have owned horses. Was one of his properties, perhaps the one that was his father’s, omitted? Did his brother oversee his land and stillhouse while David lived on a much smaller parcel in town?

In the 1790 census, David is shown living beside his father, Charles, with two enslaved people who were probably doing much of the work on David’s land. He owned slaves in 1800 and 1810 as well, so they had to have lived someplace. Comparing the tax list to other men such as Jonathan Hethman or Heathman, who in 1790 owned four enslaved people and two in 1800, shows that in 1798, Heathman had five cabins of 12×12, 12×14, and 12×16 feet that would clearly have been slave quarters. But David Hickerson shows no other structures. That’s odd.

I also wonder why David Hickerson’s house was worth so much more than other homes of the same size, including his brother’s.

By comparison, his brother Joseph’s dwelling house was larger than David’s at 16X20 or 320 square feet, but it was valued at only $10, similar to that of most dwelling houses. The outside kitchen was 12X16 and was valued at $8, so almost as much as the house itself.

By virtue of comparison, a 14X70 mobile home today is 980 square feet, three times the size of their homes – so quite tiny by today’s standards.

Joseph clearly farmed because he had a 10X16 barn, so about half the size of his house, which was worth $8, the same as the outside kitchen and more per square foot than the house.

Joseph’s blacksmith shop was 12X16 but was only valued at $1, even though that’s probably a primary source of income. His blacksmith shop was worth far less than David’s stillhouse. Joseph’s mill house was 8X12 and was valued at $10, the same as David’s stillhouse. Joseph also had a stable that was worth $2, twice as much as his blacksmith shop.

Taken together, this gives us a snapshot of life in Wilkes County in 1798. Both of these men had been born in the 1750s or 1760s and had spent their entire adult life in what would become Wilkes County, first working their father’s land, then their own.

They watched their father march off to war in 1776 and probably farmed his land as best they could until his return. They learned to handle horses, cows, and whatever other livestock they would have had. They would rise with the sun every morning and begin the never-ending chores that defined farm life.

The seasons determined their activities, such as plowing, planting, harvesting, hunting, butchering, and processing meats. Not to mention making moonshine, which requires dried corn.

At least David, and probably Charles before him, turned excess corn into moonshine. Or maybe the corn wasn’t excess and was grown for this specific purpose. Were the Hickerson’s the premier distillers of the region? Perhaps so.

I extracted a list of all of the other stillhouses from the 1066 individuals taxed in Wilkes County, which covered an extensive area, across the mountains to the Virginia border. There were a total of 18 stills, including David Hickerson’s, meaning that one in every 60 households included a stillhouse. But David’s was the largest at 24X17. A few had no size listed, but most were substantially smaller. Interestingly enough, though, David’s was valued at $5, but the next largest, 20X18, and one at 14X18, were valued at $12. The rest were valued between $2 and $10, with six others valued at $5. I sure wonder what the criteria were for valuing a stillhouse.

Back then, whiskey was medicine as well as recreation, and considered a gentleman’s beverage. Drinking was only frowned upon if liquor was consumed in excess. The definition of excess was determined by your neighbors and the church.

Ironically, in the years since, Wilkes County proclaimed itself the Moonshine Capital of the World, where NASCAR was born from highly skilled moonshine runners outpacing the law on those treacherous mountain roads.

It’s also worth noting that on the 1798 tax list, Joseph Herndon’s property is noted as being on the road from the Wilkes Courthouse, across from David Hickerson. Given that David had one parcel of 2 acres, which included his dwelling house, I wonder if he actually lived in the town of “Mulberry Fields” which would one day become Wilkesboro, and sold his moonshine to folks coming and going from the courthouse.

Joseph Hickerson’s mill would be another great location to imbibe and pick up some moonshine.

When farmers harvested grain, be it corn, rye, barley, or wheat, it had to be ground at the mill. Mills were very important community resources and also served as gathering places for the local farmers who discussed anything and everything that needed discussing. They might have whittled on a piece of wood, crafting it into something useful, played a friendly game of checkers on top of a barrel, and had a nip or two. I wonder if the remains of the Hickerson Mill still exist on Mulberry Creek.

Of course, every horse and the local oxen needed horseshoes, stirrups for their saddles, and bits for their halters. The farmers needed hinges, nails, wheel rims, barrel stays, chains, tools, and other hardware forged by the local blacksmith.

Almost everyone farmed in Wilkes County, or at least tried to on the rocky mountainsides. Flat land closer to the Yadkin held a much higher value because it was easier to farm and much more productive. David Hickerson’s 170 acres on the Yadkin at the mouth of Lewis Fork was valued at $300, much higher per acre than his 196 acres on Mulberry Creek at $95, or his brother Joseph’s 150 acres on Mulberry that adjoined his that was valued at $61.

Now, of course, I want to look up all of the Hickerson neighbors shown on the land grant map to see what their life was like in 1798. Each family was part of the community tapestry that was interwoven and shaped the lives of our Wilkes County ancestors.

Let’s Take a Drive

I absolutely LOVE finding my ancestors’ land on Google Maps and “driving by.”

Given the shapes of the roads and Mulberry Creek on Jason’s map, it was easy to find on Google maps too. Joseph’s land is parallel to the left with a small piece running partway beneath Charles’s land, and David’s is above Charles in the loop.

You can see Mulberry Creek meandering through this entire area, and in at least one place, there was a still, a blacksmith shop, and a mill, in addition to at least two and probably three houses.

I turned on the aerial features.

I was excited to drive up Mountain View Road, which is road 1002. The land on both sides of the road is heavily forested with small cleared areas for farming. The road, on Charles Hickerson’s land, runs along beside, then crosses Mulberry Creek.

You can see the bridge on Mountain View Road, looking back to where it crosses Mulberry Creek.

Two roads traverse the Hickerson land. Mulberry Creek Road intersects on the west, leading to Joseph’s land.

Turning onto Mulberry Creek Road, we continue to climb and can see one of the cleared areas. Charles’s land abuts Joseph’s near here.

One last look at Mulberry Creek’s path through the Hickerson land, this time looking north to south. Water was the lifeblood of farming, not only to drain the lands and water people and animals, but to power both mills and stills.

Mulberry Creek provided the lifeblood of the Hickerson family for generations.

How I wish this landscape could talk and tell us the secrets that it holds. Charles and Mary, and probably a few others are buried someplace here in the family cemetery, but where?

What’s Next

I know I went down a huge rabbit hole in this article, beginning with the 1798 Wilkes County tax list and winding up someplace in the Viking homelands with a few detours through North Carolina, possibly New Jersey, and maybe England on the way.

I’ve identified what I need to do to make progress, though.

  • Reach out to Hickerson Y-DNA matches and ask about their genealogy.
  • Encourage another Henderson and another Hickerson male to upgrade to the Big Y-700 test to refine the origin dates and haplogroups, if possible, with the hope of bringing into better focus the date of a common ancestor. This will help us determine if the common ancestor is in colonial America or in England.
  • If the common ancestor lived after immigration to the colonies, begin searching more aggressively for information about the Henderson or Hickerson line in New Jersey.
  • Check the FamilySearch AI tool often. (Yes, I already checked for Edward Henderson, and he’s in NJ and had a will. More research is needed.)
  • Edward Henderson’s WikiTree entry is here, and his father, James is here.

How are we related to the Henderson family, when did we share a common ancestor, and where did we come from after the Vikings and before North Carolina?

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Thank you so much.

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Jacques Bonnevie (c1660-c1733) Speaks from Beyond the Grave about Port Royal and Fort Louisbourg – 52 Ancestors #431

Ahh, my daughter – you’re here! In Louisbourg. I’m overjoyed, and my heart sings!

I thought no one would ever come. That no one would ever find me. But alas, you have!

It’s been almost 290 years since I, Jacques Bonnevie, passed from my mortal body on Île-Royale at Fort Louisbourg, the place you call Cape Breton Island, right across the bay from where you’re sitting right now.

Look up, you can see the fort in the distance out your window. Gaze across the bay. I’m buried on the spit of land right there, to the left of the fort, across the water with the sun glinting and sparking.

That’s the sprite of my spirit, dancing on the waves, so joyful that you are here.

Yes, my girl, I can see you. And your mother too, who accompanies you in spirit – and her ring that you wear. She’s standing right by your side and walks with you. Did you know that? Continue reading

Wilkes County Secrets Revealed about the Braddock Harris and Ann Alexander “Assault” – 52 Ancestors #430

Recently, I received a lovely email from Jason Duncan.

Roberta,

In an article that you wrote on November 17, 2019, you mentioned Braddock Harris and his wife Rachel Hickerson.

https://dna-explained.com/2019/11/17/sarah-hickerson-1752-1760-before-1820-silent-member-of-a-feuding-family-52-ancestors-262/

You included information about Braddock’s attempted rape conviction in Wilkes County, but the document that you found didn’t specify who the victim was. On a recent trip to the NC Archives, I found a document in the Criminal Court Papers that identifies the victim as Ann Alexander, the step-daughter of Isaac Darnell.  I’m sending the front and back of that paper, dated January 9, 1786.

I’m not sure yet exactly who Isaac Darnell was, but I know the Darnell family settled in the eastern part of Wilkes in the vicinity of Bugaboo Creek and Little Elkin Creek. Darnell is still a popular name in the area.

As you noted, Braddock’s punishment was to be paraded across the court yard from Humphries to Smothers/Smithers. Within the past few months, I’ve been able to pinpoint where Spencer Humphries’ home and tavern was located.  It was about 50 feet from the (then) courthouse door. This point on Google Maps is the SW corner of Humphries’ house:

https://maps.app.goo.gl/MP8Xr4qPNzu21JPL9

This is based on William Lenoir’s map and survey notes from when he was laying out the town of Wilkesboro in 1800. I found this a few months ago. One of the points that he mentioned was the SW corner of Milley Humphries’ porch. Her husband Spencer had died a few years earlier, and she still lived there. The courthouse was on the west side of the house near the tree line. The “stocks” were 70 feet south of the Humphries house. Coincidently, when I park my car to go into work at the Wilkes Heritage Museum, I’m parking in the very spot where Braddock Harris walked carrying his sign!

Jason Duncan

Wow, just wow. This is exactly why I write these articles!

Before I go on, Jason writes about the old courthouse on his website, here, with a sketch, and the 1800 map of Wilkesboro by William Lenoir.

Braddock Harris

Jason found the original criminal charging bill.

Whereas complaint being made to me ? Herndon Justice Peace for said county by Isaac Darnel that Bradock Harris did on Thursday last violently abuse his step daughter Ann Alexander by forcing her to lie with him and did greatly hurt and bruise her the said Ann (missing) her great dammage and against the (missing) dignity of our state of N Carolina (missing) command you in the name of the (missing) to immediately take the body of the (missing) Harris and then bring before me or some Justice of the said County to answer the above (missing) humane charge and to be further dealt with as the law directs. (Can’t read) jail (or bail) not given under my hand this 9th day of January 1786.

Signed by Joseph Herndon and witnessed by Alexander Gilbreath and (illegible.)

That’s ugly. Really ugly. “Forcing her to lie with him” does not sound like “attempted” to me.

Here’s what I wrote in my original article before Jason had found this information:

I was researching Daniel Vannoy and Sarah Hickerson. In an every-name index book, Daniel Vannoy was listed as a court juror on April 26, 1786. The case heard before the one in which Daniel sat as a juror is transcribed below, simply because I found the topic and entry so unusual.

State vs Bradock Harris – indicted assault, jury called, jury find guilty. Ordered defendant fined 5 pounds and be CARTED up and down the court yard from Humphries to Smothers with this inscription wrote in large letters on paper and fixed to his forehead and read loudly by the sheriff at each place. THIS IS THE EFFECTS OF AN INTENDED RAPE and the last part of the punishment be inflicted between hours of four and five o’clock this evening.

Court was adjourned for one hour and following were present: Charles Gordon, Russell Jones and William Nall, Esquires.

The caps are in the court record – not mine.

Thanks to Jason, we now know where that punishment took place.

The red pin marks the southwest corner of Humphries house, and the museum is a block to the right of the red pin.

The old courthouse was just to the left of Humphries home and tavern – a great location for the local watering hole where everyone would have gathered on court days to imbibe and discuss the various goings-on. Court was the local entertainment and sometimes was quite juicy. Like on that fall day in 1786 when Braddock Harris was carted up and down the street, being publicly shamed with the sign affixed to his forehead and read loudly by the sheriff for those who might not be able to read for themselves.

Everyone in the entire county and probably all neighboring counties knew about that and likely talked about it for years. That might have been a deterrent for others, but it was probably horrific for Ann.

According to Jason, the stocks were about here!

Whoever thought a mundane parking lot could or would hold so much incredible, and forgotten, history. I’d love to hear those tavern conversations!

I was excited, of course, but had to wait to get home to reply.

Hi Jason,

How interesting!

These families are definitely intertwined.

In my database, I have some information about the Darnell family because John Darnell, born about 1750, married Rachel Vannoy about 1771, the daughter of John Francis Vannoy and Susannah, whose last name is said to be Anderson.

Rachel and John Darnell had four children, but the parents were both deceased before Oct 23, 1787, because 2 of the children, Benjamin and Joseph, were bound to Andrew Vannoy as orphans.

John Darnell is the son of Isaac Darnell and (presumably) Nancy, his wife, whose last name is unknown. I don’t find another Isaac Darnel in the county at or near that time.

Of course, if Ann Alexander was the step-daughter of Isaac in 1786, that means that her mother was married to an Alexander sometime before that date.

I wonder if we will ever get those early Wilkes County pioneers sorted out.

Is it alright if I post this updated information, attributed to you?

It may well help someone someday.

Thank you so much,

Roberta

Of course, I had to start digging right away.

Jason provides a wonderful mapping resource for Wilkes County genealogists where he places the land grants for early, and not so early, settlers. You can check it out, here.

According to his database:

  • Edward Harris patented 230 acres in 1778/1779 on the north fork of Fisher Creek, in map grid J10.
  • Isaac Darnell patented 240 acres in 1779/1782 on both sides of Fishers Creek, map grid section K11.

I found both of those land grants.

Thanks to Jason’s streams, I was able to measure the distance on today’s Google Maps from roughly the center of each grant. Both grants would have been about half of a square mile, and there’s no way to know where the cabins were located on that grant.

As you can see, these families lived less than two miles apart and probably attended the same church. At least, did, prior to October of 1786.

After that, all bets were off. Braddock is lucky that Isaac Darnel didn’t kill him. Or Isaac’s wife, Ann Alexander’s mother.

That area was then and is still heavily wooded.

Jason’s reply to me:

Do you have any families who were still in Wilkes County in 1798?

I recently discovered the 1798 Federal Direct Tax list for Wilkes. The National Archives says that this list only exists for one county in NC (Iredell), but I found the Wilkes list among the William Lenoir papers. The list includes details for over 1,000 landowners.

I’m attaching a sample page from the “V” section.

This page tells us that Francis Vannoy owned 310 acres on the North Fork of Reddies River and that his dwelling house was 21’ x 17’ made of hewed logs with a shingle roof. It’s an amazing amount of detail for this time period!  I’ve transcribed the whole list and compiled it into a book.

Jason Duncan

Now, I’m really excited!

Of course, I ordered the book immediately, and as soon as it arrived, I checked for both Harris and Darnell, but found nothing in the right geographic location. But even that provided useful information.

Isaac Darnell was likely deceased by 1798 as he was born around 1729, and Braddock Harris – well, that’s a whole other story.

Braddock Harris

Braddock didn’t make many friends. I’m still utterly stunned that he was married about the same time he was publicly humiliated after being convicted of assault during an attempted rape. He married Rachel Hickerson, daughter of Charles Hickerson, about 1786. I still, for the life of me, can’t understand that.

Given that Braddock was convicted in October, he and Rachel may have been newlyweds at the time. Their first child was born in either 1787 or 1788 at the latest.

In the 1790 census, they are shown with two children.

In 1790, their house was robbed and burned, and Rachel’s sister was involved by aiding and abetting and concealing the arsonist. I kid you not. You can read the rest of the story, here. The Hickerson’s were at war.

In 1791, Braddock sold his land, or what was left, to Henry Carter.

This was followed by slander and assault charges brought against Braddock. He seemed to be a trouble magnet – or perhaps an instigator.

By 1800, Braddock Harris and Rachel Hickerson had moved to Laurens County, SC. It’s no wonder. In the census, they are shown with two children, ages 10-15, plus 3 more females under age 10. Those children, ages 10-15, would have been born between 1785 and 1790, so Braddock and Rachel likely married either shortly before or right after Braddock’s attempted rape conviction.

In 1806, from South Carolina, Braddock sold the last of his Wilkes land to a Sebastian family.

I can’t help but wonder if Braddock continued to get into all sorts of trouble in South Carolina.

They continued to move. In 1810, they were still living in Laurens County, but they were listed on an 1819 tax list in Franklin County, Georgia.

In the 1830 census, they lived in Coweta County, Georgia, where Braddock died.

I was able to find numerous deeds and transactions in all of those locations, including judgments against Braddock using the new FamilySearch Full Text AI, given that his name is relatively unique.

Ann Alexander

After all of this, I still have no idea who Braddock’s victim, Ann Alexander, was. There were early Alexander families living in the area, but I was unable to determine if she belonged to one of these families, or perhaps Isaac Darnell had married her mother before settling in Wilkes County.

Poor girl may have wanted to just disappear and did so in the records. It concerns me that there is absolutely nothing. I hope she was alright and nothing “happened” to her as retribution. Braddock seems like a dangerous person, involved in violent behavior.

My heart goes out to Ann, especially in that time and place. I’ve never seen any allegation of or a rape case in all the years I’ve been doing genealogy, so this must have been remarkably violent.

Furthermore, we all know that absolutely everyone knew about it. The inherent questioning about, shaming, and suspicion of the female involved is exactly why rapes aren’t reported today – let alone almost 240 years ago. I shudder to think what she went through.

I checked the Wilkes County marriage records and didn’t find her there. I hope she simply went someplace far away to live with an aunt, married, and had a wonderful life among people who had never heard of Braddock Harris.

The 1798 Tax List

Of course, I ordered Jason’s 1798 Tax List book immediately, here.

I have several Wilkes County families and I wanted to see if they were listed in the 1798 tax list that had lain undiscovered for more than 225 years.

The legacy of many families rests in the land.

Not only did these families carve humble homesteads out of the wilderness, but the land is trackable. It was either sold, if they were setting out for the next frontier, or inherited – along with whatever buildings had been built. Improvements, as they were called.

Even if the original ancestor had died by 1798, we can use grant, deed, and acreage information, along with Jason’s tax list, to find the homestead later, often still in the same family.

One of the most interesting aspects of the 1798 tax list is the painstaking detail, including home sizes and out-buildings.

Years ago, I was shocked to discover that my ancestor’s “mansion house,” as stated in the deed, was a paltry 12 by 16 feet, the size of my living room. Another was a huge 16 by 20. This was the norm on the frontier, not an exception – and these folks considered themselves lucky.

I’ve kept a spreadsheet for years with tax and census information for each of my Wilkes County ancestral families – and thanks to Jason’s careful transcriptions, now I know even more.

Wilkes land grants, courtesy of Jason, can be found here. Clicking on the grid number shows the associated map location.

I am incredibly indebted to Jason for what is clearly decades of work – and his love for the history of Wilkes County, North Carolina. His website can be found here. Notice he’s had a website since 1995. Thank you Jason!

Join me next week when I use the 1798 tax list and Jason’s maps to put more meat on the bones of the Harrold, McDowell, Hickerson, Vannoy, McNiel, Rash, and Sheppard families of Wilkes County.

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Jean Gaudet (1575-after 1671), Abraham of Acadia – 52 Ancestors #429

Jean (Jehan) Gaudet (Godet) was given the nickname of the “Abraham of Acadia” by Father Archange Godbout because his descendants are so numerous. In fact, Jean has the most known descendants of any of the founding Acadian fathers. As of September 2024, known descendants on WikiTree numbered 234,478, and I’m one among them.

That’s the size of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway seating, the largest sporting venue in the world. Think about that for a minute.

Viewed another way, a straight line of all of his descendants would stretch for about 100 miles as the crow flies – almost twice the distance from present-day Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia, or Port Royal as he would have known it, to LaHave, and back again.

I imagine Jean would find that unfathomable. I find it unfathomable.

Despite that, because he was one of the earliest settlers, we don’t have a lot of information about him.

Our first actual glimpse of Jean Gaudet in Acadia is also our last.

1671 Census

In 1671, the French took a census of Port Royal. Only 66 Acadian families lived in the town of Port Royal beside the fort as well as up and down the Riviere Dauphin between Port Royal, today’s Annapolis Royal, and Bridgetown, a dozen or so miles upriver by canoe.

In 1671, Jean or Jehan Gaudet was already setting records.

Listed second in the census, we find Jean Gaudet, age 96. listed next to Jacob Bourgeois, age 50, the surgeon, who lived on Hogg Island at Port Royal. Jean’s son, Denis Gaudet, age 46, with his wife and family are listed on Jean’s other side. It’s unclear whether Jacob Bourgeois is listed in actual enumeration order or was listed first because of his social position within the community.

I mention this because we know that many Acadian families moved upriver after the British depredations of 1654, and families associated with Jean Gaudet lived upriver, not in Port Royal.

Jean Gaudet was a stunning 96 years old, the oldest person in Acadia, and was noted as a laborer. More likely his sons did the laboring on his behalf. Jean would have been born about 1575, in France. His second wife, Nicole Colleson was 64, and their child Jean, 18, was born about 1653 and lived at home. They had 6 cattle, 3 sheep, and 6 arpents of land in 2 locations. I can’t help but wonder where those two parcels of land were located and why there were two.

Most people had a few arpents of recovered salt marsh on which to graze their cattle and sheep.

Jean’s family and who they married provide insight into the neighbors.

  • Son Denis Gaudet was 46, so born about 1625. He was married to Martine Gauthier, 62, and had 5 children including son Pierre.
  • Living two more houses away beside Michel De Forest was Jean’s daughter, Marie Gaudet, 38, born about 1633, the widow of Etienne Hebert, who had 10 children, including a baby who was just one year old, along with 4 cattle and 5 sheep. She had clearly just recently lost her husband.
  • Another house away we find Jean’s granddaughter, Marie Gaudet, 20, married to Olivier Daigre, 28, with 3 children, 6 cattle and 6 sheep.
  • Thirty-five houses away, so quite some distance, Jean’s granddaughter, Anne Gaudet, 27, lived with her husband Pierre Vincent, age 40, with their 4 children.
  • Two houses further, Jean’s daughter, Francoise Gaudet, 48, born about 1623, lived with her husband Daniel Leblanc, age 45, with their 7 children.

The De Forest, Daigre and Hebert families lived on the south side of the river, and the LeBlanc clan lived near BelleIsle, on the north side.

Jean’s son, Jean, didn’t live long, but managed to marry three times before his death – first to Marie Francoise Comeau about 1672, then to Jeanne Henry about 1680 in Pisiguit, then to Jeanne Lejeune dit Briard whom he married around 1694 before his death the same year.

Jean, the progenitor, had died by the 1678 census when Nicole Colloron, “widow of Godet,” is listed with a boy, Jean, age 3, born in 1674 and a girl, age 4, unnamed, born in 1673. These are clearly not her children given that she was age 64 seven years earlier in 1671. She appears to be living on the south side of the river, based on the neighbors.

Jean Gaudet’s First Wife

Given Nicole’s age of 64 in 1671, she was 32 years younger that Jean Gaudet. His older children were 48, 46, and 38 in 1671, meaning the oldest could have been born to a young Nicole when she was 17.

However, Stephen White states that Nicole was probably a widow who married Jean Gaudet in Acadia about 1652 and André-Carl Vachon suggests, “As she got married around 1652, she must have arrived between 1644 and 1650. Why? (…) In 1644, there were 20 families (in Acadia), and we do not believe that this family was among them. Then, the ship Le Fort arrived in Acadia on September 23, 1651, and we think it’s a bit tight in terms of time to settle in Acadia and then court the widower Jean Gaudet and marry him in 1652. However, there is a possibility.”

I actually don’t think it’s tight at all, especially if her husband died on the way over and Jean had children to raise. There weren’t a lot of wives to choose from in Acadia and they both needed a spouse.

I will add that if Nicole was Jean’s first wife, it’s very difficult to explain the 20 years between the birth of daughter Marie in 1633, and son Jean in 1653.

I have no proof either way, so I’m just providing information here, but strongly suspect that Nicole was Jean Gaudet’s second wife, and his first wife remains unknown.

Where Did These People Live?

In 1671, they lived in Gaudet Village.

We know that people collaborated with their neighbors, and they married people they saw regularly. We find the names of the people Jean Gaudet’s children and grandchildren married among the neighbors along the river.

The Gaudet Village is now known as Bridgetown. Jean isn’t specifically listed on this reconstructed map, but his grandson, Pierre, is and we know that Jean lived beside Pierre’s father, Denis, in the 1671 census.

We can see that the Hebert Village is nearby. While Etienne Hebert isn’t listed on this later map reconstructed from the 1707 census and a 1733 map, this is where the various Hebert families settled. Jean Gaudet’s daughter married Etienne Hebert.

The Forest, De Forest, Foret homestead abuts the Hebert land on either side of Bloody Creek.

Olivier Daigle, married to Jean’s granddaughter, lived directly across the river from the Gaudet Village which is now Bridgetown.

According to a 1733 map at the Nova Scotia Archives based on the 1707 census route, the Hebert and Gaudet families lived in close proximity near a bend in the Riviere Dauphin, now the Annapolis River, at the mouth of Bloody Creek.

Village des Gaudet was formed by Denis Gaudet and his two sons, who built a farm on the north bank of the Annapolis River about 1667. Given that Jean was living beside Denis in 1671, this strongly suggests that Jean’s homestead was here too, at least by this time. It wasn’t always, but we’ll get to that in a minute.

In 1733, George Mitchell’s map shows five houses at this site. Elizabeth Coward’s book about Bridgetown places the Gaudet homestead location south-east of present-day Riverside Cemetery, on land later owned by the Chipman family, on lot number 133 in Granville Township.

I’m not so sure Jean’s original homestead wasn’t actually in what is today the cemetery.

This map from MapAnnapolis shows a very slightly varied location, but only a few feet different.

Based on that map, the original Gaudet home looks to be in this general location.

Maybe the Nova Scotia GIS map will help me.

While I wasn’t able to find Lot 133 specifically, I was able to location Chipman Avenue that just happens to dead end into the Riverside Cemetery. That makes perfect sense.

We know that some members of the Chipman family were buried in the Riverside Cemetery in the late 1800s, but we don’t have a burial location for the earlier generations, although I think I might have a hint.

The English often used the same cemeteries that the Acadian families utilized prior to their removal in 1755 and subsequent reallocation of their land to British subjects in about 1760. The new settlers just moved to an unoccupied portion of the older cemetery and began burying their dead.

There are a few early cemeteries in Bridgetown, but only a couple that interest us.

The Old Pioneer Cemetery, on Riverview Drive, and the Riverside Cemetery at Riverside and Chipman fit with the location of those early homes.

There were burials in the late 1790s in Riverside, and assuredly more unmarked prior to that time.

Where Did Jean Gaudet Live?

Gaudetville, of course – on the east boundary of present-day Bridgetown! When Jean first arrived, there was no Gaudetville, only forest and swampland. Like all Acadians, they cleared a place to live and dyked the marshes to create farmland. The village grew up around his family and the name would follow later.

We know that whenever Jean first settled there, he would assuredly have dyked the land and about three years later, begun farming the reclaimed marshland. His son would have taken over as Jean could no longer do the heavy work, then his grandsons after that.

On Google maps, you can easily see the fields and today’s sewage plant. This would have been prime real estate with lots of marshland available. Dyking the river provided large fields where marshes used to be.

Back then, Jean would have lived above the marsh on a high point, ridge or hill. I was unable to location the reference of Ruffle’s Hill.

Old Town Cemetery is the red arrow at left, and Riverview at right.

Recently on a trip to Nova Scotia, I took a drive to find Jean’s land.

Come along!

Searching for Jean

In Bridgetown, I drove down Riverview Drive, attempting to see the river. Today, houses obstruct the view, but on the North side of Riverview, I stumbled across the Old Town Cemetery.

You can see that there are no marked graves in the part closest to the street where I’m standing.

There’s a lot of space with no burials, which means unmarked graves.167

I drove on down Riverview Drive to Riverview Cemetery where the road turned to dirt and also angled left, ultimately becomin Chipman after meandering through the cemetery.

There are few roads in the cemetery, and the only burials I could see are contemporary. Furthermore, the area beside the cemetery is entirely overgrown marsh and weeds, so I wasn’t about to go trekking down there.

Riverview Drive entered the cemetery from the west, and Chipman exited to the north.

Depending on which map or tidbit you reference, the Gaudet homestead(s) were either near the upper arrow, or are SSE of the cemetery, close to the lower arrow. Or perhaps both if there were 5 buildings.

One way or another, I was certainly in the neighborhood, within a few feet.

The map view without the vegetation is easier to see.

I drove up Chipman and noticed some soil displaced, having been bulldozed. That’s often what happens to the old foundations of Acadian homesteads. You can’t mow around them and all these generations later, many people have no idea about the history they are disturbing. (Sorry about the photo angle.)

However, this pile didn’t have any foundation stones, hallmarks of an Acadian homestead.

I wanted to stop and ask someone, but there were several “No Trespassing” signs and since no one knew where I was, I decided not to press my luck.

I drove on down Chipman, taking a photo through the trees to the west of the road.

On the right side of the road, if the upper arrow location is accurate, the homestead would be someplace in this natural area behind this property.

The forested area would be higher and can support trees, where the other area to the upper right would be wetter, only supporting marsh grasses and such. The perfect location for Acadian settlers.

We don’t know exactly when Jean Gaudet died, but it was sometime between 1671 and 1678. He was between 96 and 103 years of age, and he was very likely buried someplace nearby.

Parish records prior to 1702 no longer exist for the church in Port Royal.

We know there was at least one other “mass chapel,” St. Laurent, at BelleIsle and some burials occurred there. It’s possible that Jean was buried someplace near his home, here, or at BelleIsle, or less likely, in the more distant cemetery at Port Royal.

My guess would be in Gaudetville, or at St. Laurent in BelleIsle, but that’s speculation based on both location and convenience. The difference would be that the burial grounds at the Mass House would have been consecrated, and the grounds near the Gaudet home would (probably) not have been blessed by the priest. However, Acadians were practical and did what needed to be done.

Note that the “mass house” church or chapel, St. Laurent, is very close to the LeBlanc Village, meaning to Jean’s daughter. Taking a body all the way back to Port Royal by canoe, especially in the winter, seems both unnecessary and risky.

There are 17 burial records that specify St. Laurent in the Registers of Saint-Jean-Baptiste de Port-Royal, 1702-1755. This is not complete since most burial records did not include the exact burial location. Furthermore, the parish records prior to 1702 no longer exist.

The church at Port Royal was burned in 1654, rebuilt beginning in 1673, and burned again in 1690. A chapel was added to the fort in 1709, but when Fort Port-Royal was surrendered in 1710, the fort chapel was turned into a barracks for British troops.

Parishioners either worshipped in the Saint-Laurent Chapel or private homes. They buried their dead either in the St. Laurent cemetery, the fort cemetery, Cemetery of the Cross in present day Lequille, or in a now-lost cemetery near the Melanson settlement, probably near Stony Beach. There may have been and probably were other locations as well.

The Gaudet family continued to expand in the Bridgetown area. Soon, Bernard Gaudet, 1692-1747, son of Pierre Gaudet and Marie Blanchard set up housekeeping nearby.

Not long after I left, a Gaudet interpretive panel was placed in Jubilee Park in Bridgetown, marking the location of where Bernard settled and honoring all Gaudets who founded Gaudetville, now Bridgetown.

Should you be able to visit, walk along the river, clear your mind, and drink in the landscape as our ancestors would have known it.

Now that we’ve shared what we know of Jean’s later life, let’s step back a century in time to France.

France

Jean Gaudet was unquestionably born in France sometime around 1575. He would have come of age about 20 years later and would typically have married by 1600 or so.

We know almost nothing about his life in France, but a few things might be suggested, based on the history we do know.

Although Champlain visited and mapped the region in 1604, Acadia as a settlement for families really wasn’t on anyone’s radar until 1632 when Isaac de Razilly, a naval captain and knight of Malta, teamed up with Cardinal Richelieu to expand France’s reach into North America.

Photos of placards were taken at the Fort Point Museum located at the original Acadian settlement location of La Heve.

The powerful Cardinal Richelieu, who just happened to be Razilly’s cousin and the King’s Chief Minister and Spokesperson helped smooth the way and fund the endeavor.

The King signed Razilly’s patent on April 20, 1632, and Razilly arrived in present-day Nova Scotia on September 8th, 1632 to take possession of Acadia for France. He established his headquarters at La Heve with 300 soldiers and colonists, plus three monks. Unfortunately, we don’t have a list of names, but we do know that there were 40 families, which accounts for 80 adults, plus their children. If each couple had only 2 children, that’s 160 people without counting the French soldiers. It’s certainly possible that Jean Gaudet, along with his first wife and at least his first two children, born in 1623 and 1625, were among this group. His third child, Marie, was born about 1633 so she could have been born either in France or La Heve, if Jean Gaudet was in fact on this ship. I’m not convinced that he was, but I also can’t say that he wasn’t.

The King named Razilly Lieutenant General of New France, but more specifically, Governor of Acadia. No drawings or paintings of Razilly exist.

Razilly’s trusted cousin and lieutenant, Charles de Menou d’Aulnay was tasked with keeping things running smoothly which he did quite aptly. One of his responsibilities was to recruit men for the ocean crossings with trades and skills needed to establish the new colony.

Therefore, when Razilly died unexpectedly in 1635, d’Aulnay was well-positioned to take over the leadership of the fledging French colony in Acadia.

La Heve

I visited the original Acadian settlement, beautiful La Heve, now LaHave, where the Fort Point Museum is located today.

La Heve, named after “Cap de la Heve”, France, was located on the southern coast of Nova Scotia, on a peninsula of land at the mouth of the LaHave River.

The fort established there was named Fort Sainte Marie de Grace and is now the location of the Fort Pointe Museum. Nothing exists of the original fort, having been abandoned in 1636, burned in 1653, and the ruins lost to subsequent coastal erosion, but the cemetery remains.

The French, as well as other nations, often “justified” their colonization by claiming they were interested in saving savage souls.

Many of the old stones in the adjacent cemetery have been conserved, but none with French markings.

This 1744 map shows the fort and the habitation, or village where people lived.

I visited the old Fort site in August of 2024 and walked where our Acadian ancestors walked.

These cannons are not from the original fort site, but from the appropriate time period.

The river and bay meld into one here.

Coastal erosion has taken a toll, with much of the original fort site lost to the sea. The remaining fragile soil is reinforced with large rocks.

Photo of the same location today.

Based on the map, the habitations would be on the peninsula of land on the right.

A Gaudet descendant installed a seat for reflection and contemplation in this beautiful location.

I was surprised to find this here. Jean Gaudet certainly could have been among the early settlers, but we don’t know that he was.

It felt very welcoming nonetheless – a wink and a nod, perhaps.

I walked down to the shoreline.

The beach is peaceful and beautiful.

The barrier islands help shelter the mainland from the maritime winds. The Cormorants dry their wings on the rocks protruding from the water.

The tranquil stillness of this place, interrupted only by bird cries and the gentle sounds of the sea, invites reflection, offering a glimpse into what life might have been like for our ancestors.

This peaceful haven would have stood in stark contrast to Europe with constant wars, pestilence, plagues, and death. Having said that, I’m sure that these few pilgrims to the New World desperately missed their families, with no way of knowing how they were doing, or communicating with them outside of an occasional ship – if that.

The museum sits near the shoreline just above the beach.

Much of the original fort’s land has eroded away today.

Nicolas Denys who arrived within the first year described this little bit of Heaven in his journal.

The houses and village for inhabitants were located on that little peninsula, at right.

Whether Jean Gaudet was here or not, other Acadian families assuredly were, so I took a photo of Mom’s ring over the view experienced by our ancestors.

The earliest Acadian families, those who subsequently settled at Port Royal in 1636 when d’Aulnay moved the seat of Acadia away from this rocky coastline to the fertile Annapolis Valley, began their lives, here, in this new frontier.

Their humble homes would have stood where these larger houses stand today. I squint to try to ignore the modern buildings and imagine their smaller wooden structures with their outside ovens. Their children played on this beach, probably collecting “pretty rocks.”

The rocks on the beach are truly beautiful. Yes, I was one of those “rock collector” children, too.

I had begun my walk back when I noticed something familiar from the beach and climbed back up the embankment to have a better look.

Are the ghosts of Acadians still here?

Acadians are known for planting apple trees, and given that they only lived here for four years, I can’t help but wonder if these ancient apple trees were theirs. Who else would have planted them? Few others lived here, and probably not directly in this location. More likely in the habitation.

I had tarried long enough by the shoreline, although it pained me to leave. I was so drawn here, but I was already going to have to drive back down twisty curvy roads in the dark, so it was time to “get a move on,” as my mother would have said, and explore further.

Acadian Oven

Outside the museum, I found an Acadian oven.

Cooking inside was a fire hazard, so as much as possible was done outside.

Every Acadian family would have eaten this bread – everyday.

I bet they had some wonderful raspberry jam, compote, or even fresh raspberries from Raspberry Island to go with those biscuits.

My cousin, Mark, purchased Ginger Biscuits at an Acadian bakery and we shared them as treats for a week in Annapolis Royal. I love enjoying ancestral food, which connects me to them in the most primal way.

By the time I left Canada, I found myself reading in French, again, so long as it wasn’t script, and not realizing it until I reached a word I didn’t know.

I’ve always had a passion for French. And France.

I didn’t notice the embedded star in the oven until later – the pebbles assuredly from the beach..

It’s possible that Jean’s first wife and one or more children perished here, so like any good genealogist, I had to visit the cemetery.

This garden is either at or near where the small Catholic chapel stood.

I love the arbor entrance.

On the other side of the chapel garden, we find the cemetery.

Lots of space for unmarked graves. The lone marked stone in the middle commemorates Razilly. We don’t know where he is actually buried, so it’s not his tombstone.

Ironically, I met a couple and their children walking here and we discovered that the wife and I have other Acadian lines in common. They were here for his more recent family burials. Small world.

On July 2, 1636, Razilly died and was buried in the churchyard at La Heve.

The cemetery also backs up to the sea on this spit of land.

It appears that Jean Gaudet and d’Aulnay may have some history, and not just after arrival in Acadia.

This is why I’m not convinced he was at LaHave.

Let’s go back to France!

1634 in Martaize

In 1634, one Jean Godet was mentioned in a document in Martaize, below. If this is our Jean, then there are others of the same surname listed. If this is not our Jean, it’s certainly possible that it’s the same family given the d’Aulnay connection.

Archives Départementales de l’Indre et Loire, Série C, Liasse 601, signed before the notaries Messieurs Aubri and Pasquier, at Loudun on the 21st October 1634 courtesy WikiTree https://www.wikitree.com/wiki/Gaudet-21

ChatGPT translated from French to English, thus:

Oath to the King, 1634, by Nicolle de Jousserand, for her fiefs located in the parish of Martaizé. (reported on p. 37), Sheet 2.

“I, in the freche of the Godets, declare twelve bushels of wheat measured by Loudun and the last three hundred in feudal rent due (owed) by Jean Gendre, Jean Godet, René Godet the younger, Francois Godet, the widow Vincent Besard, Pierre Giroire and Renée Besard his wife, Jean Besard, Simon Joubert, the heirs Pierre Bourg of Sauseau and the heirs Francois Godet by reason of a piece of land and signer being on land and signer remaining on land is of the Rondonay the whole containing together and holding two septiers six bushels…”

Fresche means land tenure, and deniers of cens in this context means feudal tax.

Nicolle de Jousserand is the Dame d’Aulnay, the mother of Charles de Menou d’Aulnay, discussed in this French article by Genevieve Massignon. Researcher, Gregory MW Kennedy discusses d’Aulnay’s rather tragic life, here, in English. He also presents a fresh perspective about the development of Acadia, along with its overshadowing by New England.

As we are often wont to say, “It’s complicated.”

It’s worth remembering that more recent researchers have the benefit of documents coming to light that were not previously known or available on this side of the Atlantic. Even today, many records still lay in archives, unindexed and unrecognized for their historical significance.

Massignon mentions the Gaudet family, including someone named Jean Gaudet, along with several other Godet family members in this document, here, too. Unfortunately, the original French document seems to be incomplete. I have taken the liberty of having her transcript translated by ChatGPT.

I have bolded either Acadian surnames or similarly spelled surnames that might represent Acadian surnames, along with relevant places. The maps and photos are my insertions in order to help both you and me understand what we are reading.

I visited Martaize with an Acadian historical tour, including the church. The Catholic church was the center of every French village, and many of the descriptions in this document reference Martaize or the church in Martaize.

The cemetery was always just outside the church, in the yard, but there is no cemetery there today.

Across from the church is the location of the original cemetery, according to the local historian, beneath this house.

Keep in mind that this village was small at that time. Everyone knew everyone else, worshipped in the same church, and had probably been related for centuries.

Note that the translated portion of the document above is translated slightly differently in this longer document, below. The handwriting is relatively poor, written in French script, and not entirely legible. I also discovered that the original French notarial document included by Massignon is not complete, but her transcription appears to be except for portions truncated when scanning. Of course, I really need that one sentence and who knows what the rest of the document holds..

Transcription and ChatGPT translation begins here:

From the King, My Sovereign Lord, I, Nicolle de Jousserand, wife and spouse of Messire René de Menou, Knight, Lord of Churnizé, having no shared property with him, authorized by Justice to pursue my rights, daughter and heiress of the late Messire René de Jousserand, who was the lord of Londigny, Angliers, Aulnay, Triou and the fief of Beaulieu otherwise known as Rallette which was at Arnaudeau in the parish of Martaizé and its surroundings, and of Lady Renée Robin, my late mother living in this town of Loudun: declare and hold to be due to your castle in the town of Loudun, as the case may arise, the things which follow, in both wheat and in money, from the inheritances declared hereafter.

And firstly the rents in wheat due each year, and each feast of St. Michael, to my said fief of Beaulieu otherwise known as Rallette. Namely, from the fresche (land tenure) of the Fourniers, the number of eighteen bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and three last deniers of cens (feudal tax) due by René Gueniot, son of the late Louis Gueniot, Jean and Pierre Vinattières, the widow Vallantin Brault, the widow François Breault, Françoise Havard, Philippe Guerin, Joachin Chesneau, François Boier, René Mesteau, the heirs Mathurin Pintier, Antoine(?) Halbert, René Girard, the widow Guespin, the widow and heirs Bertrand Buet, Helie Escuier, Louis Mirebeau, and the lord of Richemond, for a piece of land located in the terroir of the Turzée, behind the lordship of Saunonne: adjoining the two parts with land from said Saunonne and another to the land of Vincent Gouin, and another to the pathway leading from Saunonne to the field of Prunet by the hand of Senexrte and another to the land of Mathurin Rousseau, containing the said piece of land four septiers, one bushel, and a quarter at the lord’s oak tree on the measure of Loudun.

Photo taken inside the church in Martaize.

Also in the fresche of Coindre, the number of thirteen bushels of wheat by the measure of Loudun and six last deniers of cens and this feudal rent is due by Louis Seuirau, the widow Pasquier Bricault, Blais Cesuet, Maurice Coindre, the heirs Jeanne Bourg, Jean Potiron, Louis Rocher the elder, Louis Rocher the younger, frescheurs of the said fresche due to a lodging, houses and appurtenances, stables, courtyards, leases, and livestock: the whole held together situated in the village of Martaizé, containing five and a half boisselées and a quarter.

Bordering on one side the path leading from the cemetery of the said Martaizé to Saint-Clair, and on another side to the stream that descends from the mill of the Grange to the mill of the Mousseau, and on another side to the land of the heirs Maurice Blanchard, and another side to the land of Brilloire and the lands and oak groves of the lord of Chasteauganne. The said lodging is possessed by the aforementioned individuals.

Also, a piece of land located in the terroir of the Moys, below St. Cassien, containing two boisselées three quarters at the oak tree: adjoining the land of the heirs Jehan Poirard, locksmith, on one side, the land of the heirs Aubin Gaudet on the other, the land of René Minier, esquire, lord of Bassereau, on another, and the land of André Mauxilion on the other side.

Also, in the fresche of the Godets twelve bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and three last deniers of cens as feudal rent owed by Jean Gendre, Jean Godet, Jehan Moncontour, René Godet the younger, François Godet, the widow Vincent Bizard, Pierre Giroire and Renée Bizard his wife, Jean Bizard, Simon Joubert, the heirs Pierre Bourg of Sauseau and the heirs François Godet, by reason of a piece of land and vineyard located in the terroir of the Rondenay: the whole containing together and holding two septiers six bushels and a quarter. Adjoining on one side lands that belonged to the widow Jean Fouquetteau Chasseinges, married in second nuptials to Master François Brosseu, and on another side the land of the heirs of Michel Bizard and on the other side the vineyard of the heirs Jean Lasne.

Also, the number of five bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and three last deniers of cens and feudal rent owed by Gaspar Mauxilion and three last deniers of cens and feudal rent, for lands situated at the place and village of Martaizé called “la Pousseterie,” containing about two boisselées of land: adjoining on one side the land of the lord of Chasteauganne and on one end the house and appurtenances of Antoine Rousseau and Toussaint Mauxion, and on the other end the land of Louis Renault, who is outside the fresche with another section next to the garden of the farmhouse at the garden of the school farmhouse depending on the lordship of Lespinay and by another section next to said Renault.

Also, Antoine Halbert, laborer living in Martaizé, in the fresche of Pasquiert Bricault, owes me two bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and three last deniers of feudal rent for a small plot containing a half boisselée of land or about that size, situated by the main road leading to the village of Martaizé from Loudun, and adjoining the appurtenances of said Halbert and adjoining a path between the presbytery of Martaizé and the vine trellis leading out of the main road described above.

Also, Pierre Richelot, esquire, lord of Piau Ligere, son of Elie Richelot, esquire, lord of La Roche, and the late demoiselle Renée Minier, owes me four bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and a chicken for feudal rent, for a piece of land near the cemetery of the said Martaizé and adjoining the path leading to Baspollet in Martaizé, containing six boisselées of land or about that size, and adjoining the land of Guillaume Lepère and one end next to the land of Louis Minier, esquire, lord of Chasteauganne.

Also, René Bricault owes me, in the fresche of the Roches, one bushel of wheat, measured by Loudun, and a feudal rent for a path that passes by the house of La Grosserie and touching the land that once belonged to the late Jacques Gautefroy, who owned a mill, yard, and farm located in the village of Martaizé: adjoining on one side the presbytery and the house and lodging of Antoine Halbert.

Also, René Godet, laborer, and Aubinne Godet, widow of the late Pierre Iniatier, and Jean Potiron of St. Clair owe me three bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, a capon, six deniers of cens as feudal rent, for a piece of land located in the terroir of the Gazilland near…(sentence missing in French transcript – need complete original document.)

Also, Louis Renault in place of Antoine Renault owes me six bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, a capon, and a chicken for feudal rent, for a piece of land located in the village of Martaizé, containing about two boisselées of land: adjoining one hour’s distance from one end next to the field of the lordship of Saunonne, on the other to the watercourse of the Chesneau descending from the Moulins Mousseau to the mill of Gietal, and on the other to the land belonging to Jacques Girault; also, a piece of woodland located in the terroir of the Pontignou, containing about one boisselée of land: adjoining the land of Pierre de la Planche, on another side the land of the heirs of André Montillier, on another side the land of René Girard, and on another side the land of Jeanne Teteveau, widow of Simon Nivart; also, another piece of woodland located in the terroir of Le Pineau, containing about one and a half boisselées of land: adjoining the land of Louis Prudhomme…

…the land of Antoine Halbert, and another adjoining the path leading from Martaizé to Monslandrault on the right; also, another piece of land located in said terroir, containing about a quarter of a boisselée: adjoining the path on one side, and on the other side the land of Anthoin Halbert, and on the other side the land of Pierre Gouin.

Also, the widow of Isaac Bricault, Louis Seureau the younger, Jean Guet, Guy Barrault, the widow Pierre Chapeau for Marie Chapeau, his daughter, owe me one chicken and six deniers of cens as noble rent, feudal and domain, for a piece of land containing one boisselée, located in the terroir of Pontignou, adjoining on one side the field of Guillaume Lepère, on the other side the land of Guillaume Gaillard, on another the land of the lord of Richemont, and on the other side the land of Germain Ranteau.

Also, Guy Barrault, Jean Savarri on behalf of Michelle Barraut, his wife, owe me one and a half bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and two deniers of feudal rent, for a house, courtyard, and garden: all held together as it has been pursued and includes, situated in the village of Martaizé in the Bassereau of said place; adjoining on one side the appurtenances of Louis Guerin and the heirs Jean Godet and on the other side the widow Isaac Bricault and on the other side the land of… adjoining the land of Gaspar Montillier, one hour away, and on the other side the land of Gaspar Constance and René Fouscher and on one side the land of René Girard and on the other side the land of René Theuillieu.

Also, Louis Guespin the elder, Helie Vinatier, the widow René Beaulieu, Joachim Chesneau, Marc Pouschau, Pasquier Blanchard, Louis Pouschau, Anthoinme Montillier, and Jeanne Pouschau owe me three bushels of wheat, measured by Loudun, and four last deniers in the little fresche of the Sarazins, for a piece of land located in the terroir of the Petits Moys, containing one septier and about one boisselée: adjoining on one side the small path from the Grange that goes to Angliers, on one side the land of Pierre Malherbe, on another side the land of Grétal by one end, and on the other side to the lord of Longchamp to the heirs of Aubin Godet, and on one end to the land of Mr. Bonneau, one hour away to the land of François Blanchard.

Also, the heirs of the property tenant Morice Godet owe me six bushels of wheat and ten bushels of oats and cens for the amount of three months rent on a property located at the barn of Chasteauganne: adjoining on one side the land of the heirs of the tenant Jean Ferron to Michau Mousseau, on the other side the land of Philippon Ferron and other lands that used to belong to Pineau.

Then follow the rents of one denier owed per year and firstly: the heirs of the property tenants Moricet Tem and Berthelot Boulet owe three deniers of cens for a piece of courtyard land located in Pontignou: adjoining the courtyard of the heirs of the tenant Guillaume Arnaudeau. Also, one denier of cens owed by the heirs of the tenant to the late Messire Guy de Beaussay, for a piece of land located in Joismont which was previously held by Moricet Trion, containing one mine or about that size: adjoining the land of the heirs of the tenant Guillaume Arnaudeau. Also, the heirs of the tenant to the late Marc Saulnier owe twelve deniers of cens for the piece of land from a man to the lord, located in the courtyard lands of the heirs of the tenant Guillaume Abraham.

Also, the heirs of the property tenant Perrot Poussechant owe two deniers of cens for a piece of courtyard land located in said place, adjoining the courtyard lands of the tenant Emeri Ricot. Also, the heirs of the tenant Jean Poussechant owe fifteen sols of cens for a lodging located in Martaizé: adjoining the house of the heirs of the tenant Jean Girard and the lodging of the heirs of the tenant Jean Guerin.

Also, the heirs of the property tenants Anthonine Minier owe nine deniers of cens for a piece of meadow land located near Rinneaux: adjoining on one side the meadow of the heirs of Marc Vincent and on the other side the meadow of the heirs of Jean Vinattier. Also, six deniers of cens owed for a lodging located in Lousche Pinard: adjoining the lodging of the tenant Cheneau who goes to Grenard, which was all rented from the lord. Also, the heirs owe cens for the land of the lord of Hilleret Mousseau. The heirs of the tenant also owe and to the courtyards of the Arnaudeaux. The aforementioned things I acknowledge to hold in faith and liege homage and to the duties above mentioned, with all justice, lordship concerning and regarding low justice and everything that depends on it, according to the reason and custom of the country of Loudunois, and by reason of the aforementioned things, the said faith and homage, duty or service is due to them with honor, service, and reverence with all submission and obedience, such as a liege man owes to his lord of fief and faith. And I make a formal declaration that if I possess more than what is declared above, I will declare it and employ it in these present declarations as soon as I am made aware of it. And, to present this present acknowledgment and judgment and to request its reception, I have appointed my special procurator, the bearer of this, along with affirming before the Royal Notaries undersigned, that the said acknowledgment is true and that I had it drawn up as best as I could. In witness of this, I render the present acknowledgment and bail, signed by my hand and of the said Royal Notaries at my request, and have it sealed with the Royal Seal of Loudun today, the twenty-first day of October, the year one thousand six hundred thirty-four.

Signed:

Nicolle de Jousserant and Aubri, royal notary in Loudun at the request of the said lady Jousserant

ET Pasquier, royal notary in Loudun at the request of lady Jousserant, widow

October 21, 1634

You’re probably excited, just as I am, but please do not jump to any conclusions and add to your tree just yet.

So, let’s take a deep breath and maybe freshen our tea before moving on with our analysis.

Analysis – Are There Messages?

Note also the surnames of Bourg, Brault/Breault, Guerin, Giroire/Girard, Blanchard, Halbert (Hebert?), Vincent, and Besard/Bizard/Brousseu – all exact or similar names to known Acadians.

By the way, if you’re thinking that Antoine Halbert is assuredly Antoine Hebert of Acadia – he’s not. Antoine Halbert in this document was an adult in 1634, and our Antoine Hebert, possible brother to Etienne Hebert of Acadia, was born about 1621. I know what you’re thinking next – yes, he could be a son but we really, really need marriage records or SOMETHING concrete.

The village of La Chaussée is located near the village of Aulnay in France. I wrote about La Chaussée, here.

La Chaussée parish registers reach back to 1626. After examining those registers, Geneviève Massignon wrote that:

“More than half of the entries in the parochial registers from 1626 to 1650 involve the family names which we find among the 53 family names included in the census of 1671 in Acadia: Babin, Belliveau, Bertrand, Bour, Brault (Braude, in the feminine form), Brun, Dugast, Dupuy, Gaudet (Gaudette, in the feminine form) Giroire, Joffriau, Landry, LeBlanc, Morin, Poirier, Raimbaut, Savoite, Thibodeau. In addition, the family names of the wives of the settlers include Chevrat, Gautier, Guion (Dion), Lambert, and Mercier. The names of Blanchard, Bourg, Brault, Giroire, Godet, Guérin, Poirier, Terriot are among the names found in the censuses of the mother of Charles d’Aulnay for her Seigneurie.”

In the book, Acadia; the geography of early Nova Scotia to 1760 published in 1968, author Andrew Clark, on page 397, states:

“Of the group at Port Royal after 1635, known surnames that have survived, compiled from parish registers and other records, are, according to Antoine Bernard, Aucoin, Gaudet, Martin, Dugas, Trahan, Landry, Pitre, Melanson, Caissy, Colleson, and Pesely. Histoire de I’Acadie (1939). p. 20. These would be drawn from the fifteen or twenty married engages among Razilly’s original three hundred and from the Scots.”

Summarizing Nicole Jousserant’s document, we have several Godet/Gaudet individuals mentioned as follows:

  • Aubin Godet heirs – land below St. Cassien (towards Martaize) – it’s 2.4 miles from St. Cassien to the church in Martaize. Also mentioned a second time after the path from La Grange, then “on the other side to the lord of Longchamp to the heirs of Aubin Godet.”

Using these locations to triangulate the possible location of Aubin Godet, and thus, his heirs, we find the following.

The location of “the little fresche of the Sarazins,” which could well have been Le Doismon, was also mentioned. Given this information, I believe that today’s Le Doismont could well be where Aubin Godet lived.

Look at this stunningly beautiful medieval building at the turnoff from the main road between St. Cassien and Martaize, headed towards Le Doismont.

The tiny farming village of Le Doismont is ancient too – the houses and barns morphed into one – many still in use today. You can identify the medieval buildings from this timeframe and earlier by the reinforcement X irons on the outside walls, known as anchor plates, which reinforce the internal beams and strengthen the stone or masonry walls, preventing bowing.

In the aerial photo below, you can see the main road, the old farm at the turnoff, and Le Doismont at right.

Come take a drive in Le Doismont here, on this historic one-lane road. You can’t get lost – it’s only a block in either direction from the T intersection that doesn’t even have a stop sign. Regardless of whether this is exactly Aubin Godet’s farm or village, and even if it’s not “our” family – the farming community of wherever they lived would look almost exactly like this – so savor this unspoiled step back in time into history.

But we’re not finished yet.

Nicole continues: Also the following people in the fresche of the Godets by reason of a piece of land and vineyard located in the terroir of the Rondenay: the whole containing together and holding two septiers six bushels and a quarter:

  • Jean Godet
  • Rene Godet the younger
  • Francois Godet
  • Francois Godet heirs

This clearly tells us that these people are related to each other and Aubin – most likely all his descendants.

Nicole again: In addition to the above people, others in the fresche Godet that owed tax were Jean Gendre, Jehan Moncontour, the widow Vincent Bizard, Pierre Giroire and Renée Bizard his wife, Jean Bizard, Simon Joubert and the heirs Pierre Bourg of Sauseau.

Given all these people together, I strongly suspect it was this little farm village. They lived adjacent and farmed the surrounding fields, attending church in the closest larger village of Martaize. I can’t help but get excited about seeing all those Acadian surnames noted as neighbors.

Nicole continues:

  • Aubine Godet, widow of Pierre Iniatier
  • Rene Godet laborer

Aubine is clearly the feminine fort of Aubin, so she would be a daughter, sister, or other relative. Aubine Godet and Rene Godet are mentioned together with Jean Potiron of St. Clair who jointly owe tax in the terroir of Gazilland which appears to be within a block or two of the church in Martaize – although the original Rue de Gazillon could have extended further, to another small village which no longer exists today. Roads in France outside of villages are now given road numbers which replaced the original local names making this detective work more difficult.

The following two people appear separately.

  • Jean Gaudet’s heirs are mentioned in Martaize adjacent Louis Guerin and Michelle Barraut.
  • Morice Godet’s heirs are mentioned as owing tax, but not in a location I can place. His property is at the barn of Chasteauganne and a Lord of Chasteauganne is mentioned elsewhere. There is a Chasseignes near St. Cassien, above Le Doismon.

These people would all have been buried in the cemetery in Martaize.

We have three Godet men mentioned with heirs, plus several living people. Aubine would have inherited as a daughter.

One last thing. If you’re wondering if there are any other French records of interest for Jean Gaudet, there might be.

Another Jean Gaudet was buried at St. Velluire on January 2, 1654, at the age of 82 years, so born about 1572, just three years before our Jean Gaudet of Acadia. This might be Velluire, not far from La Rochelle, although I do not have the original burial record. There’s no way to know if this is the same family as the Godet family of Martaize, or not, or if either one of them are “our” Godet family.

One thing is for sure, the Godet family of the Martaize region was clearly well-established, given that they are found in locations throughout that region, according to Madame Jousserant. Furthermore, several men appear to be deceased and have heirs, suggesting that they were older men. This family was assuredly in the right place at the right time. In 1634, our Jean Gaudet would have been 59 years old. Whyever he would have wanted to set off for the new world baffles me. Opportunity, adventure, or perhaps family encouragement.

Unfortunately, Acadian Jean Gaudet only had two sons that lived, his namesake Jean, and Denis. I wish there had been an Aubin or Aubine, which would have been very suggestive.

All of this information, of course, is our attempt to determine if the 1634 Nicolle de Jousserant document is referencing our Jean Godet/Gaudet or even the right family. If so, he was clearly in Martaize in 1634. If not, it could still be the same Godet clan given their close association with the d’Aulnay family and other Acadian surnames.

There are two Jean Godets mentioned – one living and one deceased so Jean is clearly a family name. Unfortunately, Jean (Jehan) is equivalent to John in English and is quite common.

The 1687 Document

In attempting to determine when Jean Gaudet and his children arrived in Acadia, we must also take into consideration the 1687 document signed by several Acadians, including Jean Gaudet’s son-in-law, Daniel LeBlanc.

Given that d’Aulnay died in 1650, this means that Daniel LeBlanc would have had to have been in the colony prior to that time in order to serve as an eyewitness to the number of forts, ships, houses, and mills built by d’Aulnay.

We, Michel Boudrot, Lieutenant-General in Acadie, with the older settlers of the land, certify that the deceased mister d’Aunay Charnisay, formerly the King’s Governor of the coast of Acadie, constructed three forts along this coast; the first one at Pentagouêt, the second at the Saint-Jean River (in 1645 only), and the third at Port-Royal; these forts were well supplied with all the canons and munitions required! There are three hundred regular men to defend these forts.

We certify also that the late d’Aulnay Charnisay ordered the construction of two mills; one was powered by water, the other by wind power and he ordered that they build at Port-Royal five pinasses, several dories, and two small ships of seventy tons each. As well as two farms or manors and associated buildings; houses as well as barns and stables(…)

We certify that the above is true as we have seen this; we have signed this in good faith at Port-Royal on October 15, 1687, in the presence of Mr. de Menneval, King’s Governor of all of Acadie, and Mr. Petit, Grand Vicar for the Grand Bishop of Québec, and the vicar of this place Port-Royal.

Also having signed; Mr. Boudrot, Lieutenant-Governor ; François Gaunizzot (Gautherot) Bourgeois ; Pierre Martin ; Mathieu Martin ; Claude Tériot ; d’Entremont, King’s prosecutor.

Also marked by: Antoine Bourg, Pierre Bouet (Doucet), Denis (Daniel) LeBlanc ; Abraham Dugast.”

Jean Gaudet’s daughter, Francoise, was married to Daniel LeBlanc about 1650, after the death of her unknown Mercier husband, so this confirms that Daniel was in Port Royal prior to 1650. He was born about 1626, so he either came with parents who died before the first census and are unknown, or as a young man, given that d’Aulnay was only governor from 1636 through 1650.

Some researchers have suggested that Jean Gaudet’s three eldest children married in France, if this is true then that means that the Mercier, possibly LeBlanc, Gaudet (Godet), Gauthier and Hebert families were all living in very close proximity to each other in France, and likely attended the same or neighboring churches.

We have no evidence of that in LaChaussee where records exist back to 1626, but the translated records of d’Aulnay’s mother do include one Antoine Halbert which could possibly be Hebert. Unfortunately, the script is difficult and the spelling was not standardized at that time.

In the Poitou region of France, now Vienne, not far from Richelieu where the Cardinal lived and Martaize, Loudon, and LaChaussee, locations of known Acadian families, according to Kennedy, we find swampy regions that were dyked and drained with the same techniques that were used along the Riviere Dauphin and other Bay of Fundy locations in Acadia.

It would have made perfect sense to recruit people with this rather unique skill set for Acadia as well, and it just so happened they were within the sphere of influence of both Razilly and d’Aulnay – although this skill set was not needed at La Heve.

You can see that Aulnay is directly between Martaize and La Chaussée

Both Razilly and d’Aulnay were Seigneurs in La Chaussée, which meant they owned the land and charged rent to the peasants who farmed there.

Can we draw any conclusions from this 1634 document without further research? No. Can we dismiss it? Absolutely not, especially given the other possible Acadian surnames.

We need more information or a Y-DNA test for any male Gaudet (or similar spelling) who descends from this line or region in France – meaning not descended from Acadian Jean Gaudet. If this is you, I have a DNA testing scholarship just waiting – please reach out.

In 1635 and 1636, d’Aulnay recruited additional French families to settle in Acadia. The St. Jehan departed La Rochelle for La Heve with colonists on April 1, 1636. There is a passenger list, but Jean Gaudet or a similar name is not listed.

After Razilly’s death, d’Aulnay decided to remove the government of Acadia to Port Royal, on the opposite coast for better farmland.

I know that my ancestors knew both Razilly, and d’Aulnay. They spoke with this man. How I would love to be a fly on the wall.

While this move from one location to another sounds fairly peaceful, in actuality, it wasn’t. This era became known as the Acadian Civil War. One way or another, Jean Gaudet was involved.

Acadian Civil War

D’Aulnay moved several settler families from La Heve to Port Royal, while Charles de Saint-Etienne de la Tour, the French Commander of Acadia, built a new Fort Sainte-Marie at the mouth of the St. John River in New Brunswick. It would later be named Fort La Tour, not to be confused with the locations of those same names on the southern coast of Acadia at and near La Heve.

Those two men were sworn enemies and proceeded to go to war with each other over who would control Acadia. Lives were needlessly lost on both sides. Their personal war lasted five long years, affecting all French people living there.

In 1640 La Tour attacked Port Royal with two armed ships, but had to surrender.

In 1642, d’Aulnay established a blockade of La Tour’s Fort Sainte-Marie.

D’Aulnay arranged for La Tour to be charged with treason and disrespecting the French Crown. La Tour couldn’t go to France, on pain of being arrested on those charges, so his wife traveled to France on his behalf and advocated for him, apparently effectively. She returned with a warship so that La Tour could defend himself.

In the spring of 1643, another battle took place when La Tour attempted to capture Port Royal again, this time with the ship his wife brought from France along with four armed British ships out of Boston manned by 270 English mercenaries. The British must have enjoyed this immensely. D’Aulnay lost six men and seven more were wounded. For some reason, La Tour did not attack the fort in Port Royal, which was only defended by 20 men, but he burned the mill, killed livestock, and seized furs, gunpowder, and other supplies before departing.

D’Aulnay was furious.

This had literally turned into an ego-driven Civil War between two men, but in 1645, d’Aulnay eventually won – but it was ugly.

In 1645, La Tour went to Boston requesting aid from the British once again. That sure smells like treason to me.

While he was gone, d’Aulnay took advantage of that opportunity by seizing all of La Tour’s possessions, including Fort La Tour at St. John, along with other outposts.

The infamous siege of St. John began on Easter Sunday, April 13th, when d’Aulnay mustered 200 men, probably every French soldier and Acadian man, sailed across the Bay of Fundy and arrived at La Tour’s fort, which was under the control of his wife, Francoise-Marie Jacquelin, in La Tour’s absence. She was young, age 23, but was known as the Lionesse of LaTour for her battle savvy and brilliant defense of the fort.

After five days of fighting, d’Aulnay offered quarter to all soldiers if Francoise-Marie would surrender the fort. Knowing she was outnumbered, she agreed to his terms, but then d’Aulnay reneged and hanged every one of the men in La Tour’s garrison as Francoise-Marie was forced to watch with a noose around her own neck. Three weeks later, while still in d’Aulnay’s custody, she too died. And no, we don’t know how or why.

With his fort gone, his garrison swinging from the gallows, and his wife dead, La Tour retreated upon his return and went to live in Quebec, where he continued in the fur trade.

After La Tour’s defeat, d’Aulnay traveled to France to receive honors from the King.

By this time, Acadian families must have been totally exhausted. The 9 years between 1636 and 1645 would have been filled with almost constant conflict and angst. Without church records, we don’t know who died in the attacks, who married, or anything else for that matter.

We know that Jean Gaudet’s daughter, Francoise, married her Mercier husband and had their one child sometime about 1645. She remarried to Daniel LeBlanc around 1650, having their first child around 1651. Was her first husband a victim of the French-on-French warfare? It’s possible.

It’s also possible that Jean Gaudet and his family weren’t yet in Acadia, but it’s not probable based on that 1687 document signed by Francoise Gaudet’s second husband, Daniel LeBlanc, testifying to d’Aulnay’s accomplishments.

For those living at Port Royal, I can only imagine the fear leaping into their throats every time they saw distant sails entering the harbor, especially if there was more than one ship.

From Easter of 1645, d’Aulnay governed all of Acadia without interruption, and they would finally have five years of peace.

By 1645, Jean Gaudet would already have been 70 years old. Surely he did not arrive in Acadia in his 70s. He much more likely arrived closer to 1635 when he would have been 60. I imagine that he was a fit, spry, and healthy man. Today, he would have been looking at Social Security – yet he was striking out for a new frontier. Perhaps his children wanted to go and he didn’t want to be left behind. We will never know, but kudos to him for bravery and spunk!

Between 1640 and 1645, besides waging battle with La Tour, d’Aulnay recruited additional families who arrived on many ships, but there’s only one known passenger list – in 1641.

In Charles d’Aulnay’s “memoir” of 1644, He details a long list of responsibilities, including the establishment of 20 families and 17 missionaries, the salaries and maintenance of 200 soldiers and workers, and the construction and maintenance of mills, churches, forts, and ships.

Based on engagement contracts signed in La Rochelle, most of the people who arrived in Acadia clearly either died or returned to France. Many were single men who would have completed their work contracts and returned home to families or to find a bride. Given the warfare, I’m not surprised that few wanted to stay.

With La Tour out of the picture, d’Aulnay improved Acadia. New ships were built, mills erected, and marshes dyked.

In 1647, a commission was issued, making him governor and lieutenant-general in Acadia.

D’Aulnay’s time as governor was short-lived, though, because in 1650, he died in a canoe accident, calling the governance of Acadia into question once again.

After d’Aulnay’s unexpected and untimely death, La Tour saw an opportunity. I can’t help but wonder if he was somehow involved in making that opportunity, but that’s pure speculation on my part.

La Tour returned to France and sought to reestablish himself in Acadia. He was successful, and his title was restored, making him d’Aulnay’s successor. He returned in 1651 with Philippe Mius d’Entremont, a rather mysterious figure who, two years later, was awarded a fiefdom or seigneury, only the second in all of Canada, at which time he became the Baron of Pobomcoup, today’s Pubnico. More about Mius in a future article.

When La Tour became governor, I can only imagine the terror that gripped the hearts of the Acadians who had fought AGAINST him so many times.

Not to mention d’Aulnay’s widow, Jeanne Motin, and their eight children, ages newborn to 11, who were living in Port Royal. She must have been utterly terrified. She sent her children to France to be cared for by relatives. They never returned, and she never saw them again.

Motin’s immediate future was defined by d’Aulnay’s creditors raiding and looting Port Royal for anything of value, which meant the Acadian families suffered. All those years of settlement and warfare were expensive, and d’Aulnay’s creditors intended to collect.

You’re not going to believe what happened next.

Plot Twist

On February 24, 1653, Jeanne Motin and La Tour decided, for the good of Acadia, to bury the hatchet – and not in each other.

They married – each other. I kid you not. It wasn’t just a marriage in name only either, as they went on to have five children in the next decade. I can only imagine those dinner table conversations and the shock experienced by everyone in Acadia. It did, however, end an era of conflict, at least for a little while.

Jeanne died a decade later, shortly after having her 5th child with La Tour.

D’Aulnay left a thriving colony, but the intense French recruitment era came to an end with d’Aulnay’s 1650 death.

Four years later, in 1654, it would end altogether for another 16 years.

1654 – The British

In 1654, the British attacked again. The Acadians must have felt like they were living in an incessant war zone.

By 1654, Denys estimated that there were about 270 residents at Port Royal. If you divide that by 5 for the (estimated) size of an average family, you only have about 55 families. If you divide by 7, you get around 40 families. Probably in addition to men at the various forts scattered about in various locations, including Port Royal.

Jean Gaudet, at 77 years of age, would have witnessed the English attack upon and capture of Port Royal by the British in 1654. At that time, most people actually lived in or within sight of the town, not up the river. We know this because later, it was stated by Denys that people moved upriver after the 1654 attack.

Jean Gaudet might, even at 77, have been one of the 130 men who defended the fort. He seems rather irrepressible.

Understanding that they were both outnumbered and outmanned against 200 professional British soldiers, plus 100 New England volunteers, the Acadians negotiated terms that allowed them to retain their property and continue worshiping as Catholics. Soldiers and officials, who would have nothing left to defend or reason to stay, would be transported back to France. Most of the residents would remain and be unharmed.

That’s the best they could hope for, all things considered.

However, after their surrender, the British violated the surrender terms they had just agreed to by desecrating, looting, and destroying the Catholic church at Port Royal.

This 1686 map shows the location of the church that was later rebuilt (2), the cemetery (4), and the ruined fort (3).

The good news is that in 1654, the British didn’t burn the village. The Acadian families must have been, once again, petrified.

In 1654, all transport ships and settlers from France stopped until France reclaimed Acadia in 1670, just one year before the census that showed Jean Gaudet at 96 years of age.

This series of historic events tells us unquestionably that Jean Gaudet arrived sometime between 1632, when Razilly first began settlement in earnest, and 1654 when all French immigration ceased.

Given that Jean Gaudet’s eldest son, Denis, married about 1645 to Martine Gauthier, presumable in Port Royal, and his daughter, Francoise, married a Mercier about 1644, then remarried to Daniel LeBlanc about 1650, it’s probable that Jean Gaudet was in Acadia prior to 1644, and almost certainly before 1650.

Maybe additional documents will be found in France to provide previously undiscovered information. Is it too much to wish for baptismal and marriage records??

For a long time, things were relatively peaceful in Acadia despite the English overlords. In 1667, the ownership of Acadia was returned to France in the Treaty of Breda with nary a drop of Acadian bloodshed. The official transition was delayed until 1670, but that, too, was peaceful.

After regaining control, the French immediately took a census in 1671. Surprisingly there were 361 Acadians in the Port Royal area, up from the 270 estimate in 1654. Some people would have died, of course, but apparently, more were born, and some, especially soldiers, would have arrived after control was returned to France – although they don’t seem to have been enumerated.

By 1671, Jean Gaudet was 96 years old and had seen more of life than any other person in Acadia. He was born before Champlain even set out to explore those waters.

Imagine the stories he would tell us if he could.

Unanswered Questions

Aside from the questions we’ve already posed, there are a few other things I’ve wondered about.

Jean Gaudet’s first wife’s mitochondrial DNA was haplogroup J1b2.

Was she his first wife, or was he married previously in France? I wonder because he was born about 1675, but his eldest child found with him in Acadia was born about 1623. He would have been 48 years old at their birth. That’s certainly not impossible, but it is improbable. Normally, he would already have been fathering children for 20 or 25 years by the time he was 48 years old – not having his first child. He could easily have had 10 or 12 children prior to 1623 and already been a grandfather.

Did he have a first wife we don’t know about who died along with all of their children? Did his first wife die, and her family took their children to raise? Did his wife not die, but some children were left behind in France? Were some of his children already married and didn’t want to leave? What was going on in his life? Was he truly a bachelor until age 48? Was his J1b2 wife his first or a subsequent wife?

If he married his haplogroup J1b2 wife about 1622, and had children in 1623, 1625, and 1633, that very strongly suggests that a child was born in 1627, 1629, and 1631, and subsequently died.

Based on mitochondrial DNA results, the mother of his first and third child was the same, or at least shared the same haplogroup. Their descendants are exact matches.

That alone speaks to the fact that, assuming he didn’t marry prior to 1622, he lost half his children before the 1671 census, plus their mother. This man witnessed and endured a great deal of heartbreak.

Was he actually single for an extended period? Did his wife die before the next child would have been expected in 1635, or did they have more children, and his wife AND additional children all died later?

What happened in Jean’s life between 1633 when his youngest child from his J1b2 wife was found with him in Acadia in 1671, and 1653 when his next child, John, was born to Nicole?

His J1b2 wife that gave birth to Francoise, Denis and Marie would have had to be born no later than 1608 and could have borne children until about 1650ish, not long before he married Nicole. If she lived that long, they would have buried at least another eight children.

That’s devastating.

Moving on Up

We don’t know when Jean Gaudet moved upriver, only that he was one of the furthest away from Port Royal. I don’t know if that means he left first and had his pick of locations, or last and moved beyond the other settlers to available land. Either way, he did well for himself and his descendants, obtaining a significant marsh area.

Jean’s First Wife Was Not Native American

I can debunk one theory conclusively.

Some researchers had suggested that Jean Gaudet arrived very early, perhaps even with Champlain, and stayed, taking a Native American wife.

His two daughters both carry their mother’s mitochondrial DNA, having been passed from mother to mother to today’s descendants through all women.

In the Acadian AmerIndian DNA Project, we have four people descended from Jean Gaudet’s (presumed) first wife through both daughters. Their haplogroup, J1b2, is assuredly European, not Native American, so we can definitively put that rumor to bed.

Y-DNA

In the Gaudet Y-DNA Project, several male descendants of Jean Gaudet have tested.

Only one, kit number 129804, has taken the Big Y test, but only the earlier Big Y-500, not the more refined and robust Big Y-700 test.

The resulting haplogroup, G-YP786 is about 1300 years old, according to Discover, and has no matches to any other men. I’m not surprised, given the restrictions on DNA testing in France. Discover depends on multiple testers to produce the most relevant results. The most common recent ancestral date is identified for testers, so the more testers from a particular line, the more refined the results.

I would very much like for this gentleman and at least one other Gaudet descendant to upgrade to the Big Y-700 so that we all can learn more about our fascinating ancestor, Jean Gaudet.

For example, who is their most recent Ancient Connection, and where was that burial found? Where did our Gaudet line come from and when did they arrive in France? Ancient Connections and Discover tools provide information about a lineage prior to the adoption of surnames that isn’t available to us any other way.

Jean Gaudet – Still a Mystery Man

For all the tidbits we have about Jean Gaudet, there’s far more that we don’t know about him. So much uncertainty remains.

I have my fingers crossed that a Gaudet whose ancestral locations are known in France will take a Y-DNA test. Having an actual French match outside of the descendants of Jean’s two sons would be extremely beneficial.

While prior researchers dug relentlessly in early records for information about Jean Gaudet, cousin Mark, who is an extremely methodical and painstaking researcher is having a go at this as well. We are hoping that new records have become available or old records have been indexed. Something. Anything! Fingers crossed.

And Jean, if you’re listening, it would be immensely helpful if you could just stand up and wave so we know where you are😊. Some quarter million of your descendants would like to speak with you about our ancestor warranty!

_____________________________________________________________

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Acadian Homecoming – 52 Ancestors #428

You might have noticed that I haven’t published a 52 Ancestors article recently.

You might also have noticed that I’ve been swamped with conference season this fall, and while that’s part of it, there’s more to this story.

A lot more.

I’m sure you’re aware that I’m the family storyteller and legend-keeper – yet I don’t know how to tell you this.

I’ll just warn you up front that not all of this makes sense – at least not logical sense as we know it on this side of the veil.

Grab a cup of coffee or tea as I screw my courage up to begin.

You see, my ancestors called me.

Not only that, they had been calling me for a very long time.

The Calling

I surely wish I knew how to explain this – that I possessed adequate words.

The ancestors have been calling me for a long time. A cacophony of voices, each seeking to be heard. Much like the din of voices in a noisy restaurant. You can’t hear any one person, and you surely know there are voices, but you have no idea that any of them are speaking to you.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but my draw to genealogy and family history was their voices beckoning – except too jumbled for me to hear. Yet, I heeded the call, masked as curiosity. Mother apparently heard it, too. Sometimes, she would come up with tidbits, pieces of information that she “just knew” but had no idea how she knew. And you know something, she was always right.

Every. Single. Time.

Even though many of them wouldn’t be proven or confirmed for years or even decades later.

I didn’t think too much about it back then. But trust me, I’ve thought a LOT about it recently.

Sometimes, my insistent ancestors lasso other people into this drama, too. Sometimes, as unsuspecting accomplices, encouraging me. Sometimes, as people who have access to records that the ancestors need me to have as pieces of their story. Sometimes, as a passerby with just the right scrap of information – or the right direction. People literally stopped me on the street. Or perhaps, ancestors shapeshifted and took the shape of someone who had disappeared into thin air when I turned back around to ask them for clarification. Perhaps.

So much of this journey has just been surreal.

Talk about unnerving.

At those moments, all you can do is swallow and walk forward into whatever awaits – just hoping and praying you’re in the right place, and safe.

Yes, safe. When you see where I was “shepherded to” as I share this journey over the next few months, one ancestor at a time, you’ll understand.

Ancestral Fate

Sometimes, after you’ve followed an inexplicable path, you find yourself standing exactly at the juncture of fate.

Fate that changed lives. Your ancestors’ lives. Not simply one of them, but all of them living at that time in that place. In an instant, it shifted the trajectory of the lives of countless generations of descendants. Changed the very essence of my life. Had that historic, fateful juncture not occurred, I wouldn’t be here and certainly wouldn’t have been standing there.

Through the thinness of the veil, I could hear their voices, their cries, sometimes bloodcurdling screams. Palpably feel their fear as it rose in their throats and then, standing in their footprints, rose in mine.

Yes, they called me. Summoned me.

I had absolutely no idea the journey I was about to undertake.

I have only ever been on one other journey in my life that shifted time and stirred my soul with wave after wave of overwhelming emotions. An earlier journey I have never written about and shared with few.

This time, this journey, I’m sharing. With you.

I am forever changed.

Nova Scotia

Nova Scotia wasn’t Nova Scotia when this odyssey began for my ancestors. My Mi’kmaq ancestors referred to the lands where they lived as Mi’kma’ki, pronounced something Migmawgee. They were stewards of this land for more than 10,000 years, leaving their petroglyph art and secred legends.

Vikings visited before European fishermen and explorers began to arrive offshore in the 1500s. In the early 1600s, the French were establishing mutually beneficial trade relationships with the Mi’kmaq people.

The Mi’kmaq were entirely unaware of what would befall them. Diseases against which they had no immunity would devastate their population, and eventually, hordes of colonizers would all but displace them from their ancestral lands. Like the French who became Acadians, the Mi’kmaq, too, would become victims of European wars.

However, in the early 1600s, most of that was still in the future.

By the 1630s, the southern coastline of Nova Scotia, then known as Acadia, served as a fishing grounds punctuated with a few French trading forts. The French warred and argued among themselves, as people are wont to do, but for the most part, the Mi’kmaq people were impervious to the quarreling of their trading partners.

In time, European men, mostly French, sought to take wives among the Native women, and deeper alliances were formed – those of blood.

By 1632, encouraged and financed by a minor French nobleman, a few French families had settled at La Have. I will take you there on my journey, but not today. By 1636, the center or capital of Acadia was moved to Port Royal as additional French settlers and families arrived. Port Royal consisted of just a few houses and a fort.

It’s there, in historic Port Royal, later renamed Annapolis Royal in 1710 after being taken over by the English, that Acadia as we know it unfolded.

It’s there, in historic Port Royal, and for a dozen miles upstream, that I waded through marshes, climbed dykes and fortified ramparts, and communed with my ancestors. I was escorted into the marshes by newly-made friends, some of whom turned out to be cousins. I was drawn and guided to the remains of the foundations of my ancestors’ homesteads, their orchards, fields, and the wells that sustained them.

I trekked in the company of a friend from years back who I met when he was searching for his biological parents. We wound up being cousins through several Acadian lines and had a tearful, joyful reunion in our joint homeland.

We stood where our ancestors stood. Walked where they walked, and sobbed where they sobbed. I felt both their fear and unbridled joy.

I realized that my DNA permeates every inch of this land. This is the land of my ancestors.

What I didn’t understand was that they had been calling me for decades. This wasn’t my first trip to Nova Scotia – but it was the first time that I understood.

Chester, Nova Scotia

In the late 1990s, before the days of cell phones with cameras, I accidentally spent time in Chester, Nova Scotia, attending the Embroiderers’ School of Advanced Study.

By accidentally, I mean that I traveled to Chester, Nova Scotia, a small town not far from Halifax, with a few fiber artists for the purpose of art quilting and inspiration.

The inspiration I hoped for and expected was for a quilt and to sharpen my artistic skills. What happened was something else entirely.

I had absolutely NO IDEA at that time that not only was this chapter 1, but it was the first page of the first chapter. This book is not yet complete.

I thought it was just an artist’s retreat.

I received inspiration all right, but not exactly as I expected.

I Am a River

The resulting quilt that I finished months later was titled “I Am a River.”

Yes, indeed, I am that river with all its twists, turns, and rocky protrusions. Fluid, changing, morphing.

My life had changed courses dramatically through events quite outside my control. Death and destruction of lives. Rebirth and recovery. That’s what I thought I was working through.

The instructor realized that something else was going on. Something besides quilting and fabric selection. Something besides good food and companionship.

Perhaps life is art, or art is life. Perhaps our art is influenced by forces far deeper than we know.

While the instructor lectured about color selection and other artsy things, I was increasingly fascinated by something, or some things, outside the window. My mind wandered aimlessly elsewhere.

We gathered for our classes on the second floor of a beautiful historic building, lined with rock walls and old wooden fences.

I was fascinated and enthralled.

I realized that I loved the sea. The maritime landscape beckoned to me as if it was a living thing.

Boats were moored at the docks and anchored in the harbour, bobbing up and down rhythmically on gentle waves. Beautiful leaves and foliage graced rock walls. And the water, the mesmerizing sea, drew me in.

Drew me out.

Drew me away.

The instructor did something very unusual.

She dug her sketchbook out of a bag, along with a box of watercolor crayons, offering them to me. I felt very self-conscious and somewhat embarrassed. I was “that” ill-behaved student. I explained to her that I wasn’t a painter, not a watercolorist – in fact, I had never used that medium before. I didn’t even know watercolor crayons existed.

She was encouraging and told me it didn’t matter. She said to take my camera, her sketchbook, and a box of crayons that turned to watercolor when you rubbed water over them after you colored and just go out and walk. Follow my heart. The sketchbook was my diary, and I was to simply go enjoy myself.

She didn’t have to tell me twice.

I walked and walked. For days and miles, mostly along the water. Oh, I went back and sewed a bit and ate with the group most of the time. However, my classmates seemed to be much more interested in my adventures than I was in theirs. I felt rather naughty, given that I wasn’t really doing what I was “supposed” to be doing. At least I didn’t think so back then.

Now, I realize I was doing EXACTLY what I was sent there to do.

And what an adventure I had!

I even met the local police when I got stuck wiggling under a thorny bush beside a tree that I had crawled under, before realizing it sported fine-as-frog-hair needle-sharp thorns.

I was taking pictures of the stunningly beautiful sunset and foliage over the bay, but all the officers could see was a pair of legs sticking out from under a bush. Backing out was painful, and funny. After they got me unstuck, we all had a good laugh, and they showed me an easier photo location. My fellow artists saw me in the squad car, and by the time I returned, they had already created a MUCH better story. We laughed and laughed!

Everyone was incredibly nice and had suggestions and stories about picturesque locations and what to order in the various restaurants, all waterfront. By the end of the week, everyone in town knew me.

Yes, these pictures are awful because I scanned them more than two decades later. But they are also precious in so many ways.

They foreshadowed the path my life would take. I was metaphorically as well as actually at a fork in the road, a road that would one day bring me back home. To Acadia.

I had no idea that this sun-kissed and wind-swept place was already deeply etched in my psyche and carved into my heart.

I had no idea I was following my soul and that what I “heard” out there was the collective voices of my ancestors calling. Beckoning me.

I had no idea that one day, I would return.

Yes, they were speaking to me, even back then.

I was entirely unaware that I had any connection to Nova Scotia or even Canada or New England. That brick wall wouldn’t fall for at least another 10 or 15 years, and even then, in the strangest of ways.

Acadian Connection

Mother’s grandfather, Curtis Benjamin Lore was Acadian on his father’s side. Of course, Mother didn’t know that, and neither did her mother or her aunts. No one knew that family secret.

I discovered why just a few years ago, long after Mom had joined our ancestors. Our Acadian family was filled with layers of drama.

In fact, Curtis Lore’s father, Anthony, or Antoine Lore as he was baptized in the Catholic church in Quebec, left all churches altogether. Not only that, but he also left Canada for Vermont where he married before moving on to Pennsylvania with his bride. He might or might not have been a river pirate.

Mystery swirls around Anthony’s life and the circumstances of his untimely death and no one but no one talked about that. His wife, Rachel Hill, died shortly thereafter, leaving impoverished orphans trying to make their way in the world. Curtis Lore, their son left it all behind. A chance overheard conversation led me to a cousin in Pennsylvania who helped unearth that part of the story, one boulder at a time.

It took years and a completely unrelated “chance encounter” in North Carolina that led me to Blairfindie in Quebec, and, eventually, Antoine’s 1806 baptism.

Years later, another “chance encounter” with just the right person provided confirmation that the man in Vermont was the child born to Honore Lore and Marie Lafaille.

If you’re thinking this is the strangest thing ever, with all of these “coincidences,” welcome to my world.

I eventually was able to track those ancestors in Quebec, and somehow, against all odds, connected the dots and bridged the seemingly insurmountable gap between the late 1700s in Quebec, back through New England, and then to Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia in 1755 where the truly unfathomable and unspeakable had happened.

How did I ever manage to navigate those fraught waters? Eventually, DNA helped a lot in the bigger picture, but connecting the dots with individual people was extremely challenging, especially given the lack of records or even a location in New England.

There were so many synchronistic “coincidences.” After an uncanny number of coincidences, I came to question if they really were coincidences.

There were surprises, too.

Native Ancestors

After DNA testing began, I was completely shocked to learn that my mother and I both carried Native American DNA. How was that even remotely possible? It was surely an error. Yes, it had to be. Everyone in her family except for that one grandfather, who I didn’t yet know was Acadian, was either German or Dutch.

But, as it turned out, it wasn’t a mistake.

Then, I assumed our Native DNA came from Pennsylvania where Curtis Lore lived, once we figured that out – but, again, I was wrong. It didn’t. It came through the Acadian lines in early Nova Scotia – a word I didn’t even know yet at the time I discovered Mother’s Native American genetic heritage.

I needed to associate a person with the genetic evidence, but that seemed impossible, given that I couldn’t even figure out Curtis’s parents’ names initially.

Years later, I was able to positively identify one of Mother’s Native American ancestors by combining autosomal DNA testing and ethnicity segments with mitochondrial DNA results of matrilineal descendants of my Mi’kmaq ancestor whose name we don’t know.

We do know she married Philipp Mius and had daughter Francoise about 1684. My Mi’kmaq ancestor didn’t join Philipp in the French Acadian villages. He joined her in the Native villages, up and down the southwest coast of Nova Scotia, including the islands off Chester, Lunenburg, then known as Merliguesch, and Halifax. None of those locations had English names at that time.

Yes, my ancestors lived on and frequented the exact islands I photographed in the 1990s before a future series of coincidences revealed those ancestors and their history.

What are the chances?

Those ancestors were loudly insistent.

Metamorphosis

By the time 2023 rolled around, my life had metamorphosed and changed completely from that of the 1990s. Morphed much like caterpillar emerging as a butterfly from a cocoon and drying its wings.

Discoveries about my Acadian ancestors were flowing like a waterfall, one after the other. Many were shocking, incredibly sad, and horrifying. At the same time, they spoke of incredible courage, bravery, and fortitude.

At first, I was thrilled to break down those brick walls one after the other – but ultimately – I realized that my role was to research, reveal, and document their struggles, loves, and lives as they lived them.

One day, it dawned on me – at least a few of them survived genocide. I never realized the 1755 deportation, or Le Grand Dérangement, the great upheaval, as they called it, was cultural genocide – a crime against humanity. Many people simply disappeared into the abyss of the unknown.

You can’t tell the good without the bad. You can’t document the wins without the losses. Someone needs to tell their individual stories, and I’m doing exactly that.

This had probably been my calling all along.

Generational Trauma

I never understood what generational trauma was or what it meant before I met my Acadian ancestors.

I understand generational poverty all-too-well, and that children suffer from the unfortunate cultural circumstances of the families into which they are born. Circumstances they often cannot escape.

What I never really considered was that generational trauma can span centuries, cultures and many, many generations. Leaving your homeland isn’t enough to escape. I have to wonder how much of this cumulative trauma has been seared into our genetics – epigenetics – genetic memory – whatever.

Does it also lead us home?

Homecoming

Can you experience a homecoming to a homeland you’ve never been to before? Can it feel so incredibly familiar that it moves you to tears? Just simply “being” there? Touching the soil? Feasting your eyes?

Yes, I had been to Chester as an appetizer decades ago, but I had never been anywhere else in Acadia, which spans all of Nova Scotia.

Can generational memories somehow lead and bring you to places you aren’t even consciously aware of? Those places that were the pivot points where your ancestors’ lives were uprooted and changed forever? Is there some unseen force guiding or sometimes pushing us?

Do descendants carry the markers in some way of cultural genocide?

Is there a path back for us? Are the events and memories seared into our ancestors’ souls passed down to us in some way?

How can one possibly be so connected to a place you’ve never been before?

I don’t have answers.

Three Weeks in August

I spent three weeks in August 2024 on the ground in Nova Scotia, tracing my ancestors’ collective footsteps, beginning along the LaHave River, visiting locations I knew that my ancestors had visited and lived.

They sent messages and guided me, including through one man I had just met a few minutes earlier. He took me aside and very uncomfortably said to me, “Don’t think I’m crazy. I can’t believe I’m saying this to you – but your ancestors know you’re here. They are here with you.”

Imagine my shocked look as my mouth fell open. But he wasn’t finished.

“Also, your mother. Is your mother with you?”

What a question.

Yes, mother was with me in multiple ways. Her body had departed this realm in 2006, but this was “her trip” and was she ever with me.

I was also wearing Mom’s ring, the one given to her as a teen by her grandmother, the wife of her Acadian grandfather. She wore it every day of her life, and I wore it on this adventure, taking pictures of “her” in her ancestor’s locations.

Each successive place we visited offered additional adventures of its own. I’ll be taking you along with me as I finish processing not only the photos and research, but the incredible avalanche of emotions.

Let me share just one extremely poignant moment.

The Expulsion

In 1755, following over a century of escalating tensions between the Acadians, who had peacefully lived and farmed in Nova Scotia, and the British, who sought to control the region, the British ultimately succeeded in forcibly deporting and expelling the Acadian population.

Acadian families were rounded up and kidnapped, their farms burned in front of their eyes, their livestock shot, and their dykes that kept the sea at bay from their fields were destroyed. The British wanted absolutely no question in the minds of the Acadians that there was nothing to return for. They had no homes left. No fields. No family. Nothing.

The British fleet anchored in the harbour beside Port Royal which had been renamed Annapolis Royal when the British defeated the French in 1710. The Acadians had previously experienced sporadic attacks by the British where they burned and pillaged, but then went away again.

That’s what the Acadians expected this time, too, but it’s not what happened. The Acadians thought they were safe because the British needed the Acadian farmers to feed the British soldiers, but they were wrong.

The harbour beside Fort Anne in Port Royal was safe and protected from the Atlantic, but ships could not pull directly up to the town itself because the river was tidal and too shallow near the shores.

That was another form of protection from attack.

In 1755, the British decided to end the conflict with the Acadians once and for all by rounding them up and deporting them. Their lands would then be distributed to the much more easily controlled non-Catholic colonists from New England.

The British ships came to anchor in the bay. The Acadians prepared for soldiers to attack and force them to sign a loyalty oath to the British Monarchy.

Instead, the British came ashore and held the men at the fort while rounding up the women and children.

I knew that every one of my ancestors had stood on this hallowed ground at the fort in Port Royal during their lifetimes. Some defended the fort. Some traded there. Some died there. Everyone worshipped there, as the original church was located beside the cemetery.

The original land before the fort was extended and fortified between 1705 and 1710 had belonged to Abraham Dugas. the armorer, who married Marguerite Doucet, Simon Pelletret who married Perrine Bourg, Jacque Bonnevie, military corporal and blacksmith who married Francoise Mius, Guillaume Trahan whose wife is unknown, and possibly Martin Aucoin.

My ancestors had been born, were baptized and married, lived, and were buried on the land under my feet. This fort, cemetery, and Catholic church that had once stood here was the one location that every single Acadian ancestor has unquestionably been – not once but regularly. The hub of their lives.

Not one or some, but everyone. It represents an entire group of people who were isolated to their own community with no newcomers. Everyone was related. That’s part of the power of this place.

Tears streamed down my face.

Earlier generations, before the deportation, were buried in now-unmarked graves in the cemetery at the fort, established before the Catholic church was burned. The fort, church, and cemetery were the center of the town of Port Royal.

In 1755, many of those graves would still have been fresh – and marked.

I walked around the fort grounds several times over multiple days, understanding the central place in the lives of all Acadians.

On the last day, I noticed something off to the side, across the ramparts, extending into the water. This was actually outside the fort, kind of behind the end of the current town. The building in the photo at right is a municipal building housing the police station.

I was drawn to this…thing…whatever it was. But I couldn’t exactly get there.

The hill descending to this walkway of sorts was very steep. It overlooked the land across the river that had been the homesteads of the Doucet, Bourg and Leveron families – also my ancestors.

By the time I found this small peninsula of land, it was late in the day, nearly sunset, and I was exhausted. I had been ill the week before my trip to Nova Scotia and not fully recovered – but nothing was stopping me now.

I had to get down there somehow.

I walked part way into town and around, behind the police station, and discovered stairs descending to the river level.

When I was leaving, I saw a sign and walked over to see what it said. I’m telling you this out of order so you understand what’s coming.

Good heavens! I had stumbled onto the deportation wharf. I had absolutely no idea it still existed.

The physical location where my ancestors’ lives were ripped apart in 1755.

Where they and their unsuspecting children and family members were shoved into rowboats, rowed out into the river, and deposited onto different ships. It was chaos. No one knew what was happening.

Families, in those horrific hours and minutes, carrying only what they could, were eternally separated – never to find or see each other again.

Many searched until death.

Where did death befall them? In many cases, we simply don’t know. Some overcrowded ships sank. Others, as poverty-stricken refugees, were buried and forgotten in anonymous graves where they landed among people all too unhappy to see them.

In most cases, we have no idea where they were – as the ships were intentionally separated and sent to different colonies so that the Acadians couldn’t scheme to return home.

God rest their souls.

I walked out onto the wharf and back in time into their lives.

The fort ramparts were to my left.

The wharf in front of me, now grass-covered, was a one-way ticket to Hell. 

A death march for many. Torturous for all.

How could the British do that?

Much like Hitler’s minions in the 1930s, “just following orders”?

Torture.

Murder.

Genocide.

I reached the end of the wharf where there were only stones, preventing today’s wharf-walkers from proceeding into the endless waters.

Yellow roses for their broken hearts.

The harbour where the ships anchored, and the exit into the Bay of Fundy – the last the Acadians would ever see of their beloved Acadia.

I could see the fort behind me, just as they would have. Originally their fort, but long-since the British fort.

The ships were anchored here. Boats rowed by British soldiers from the wharf to the ships loaded unwilling and probably sobbing Acadians.

No one knew where their family members were.

Standing on the beach, the edge of the town to my right.

A panoramic from the wharf of a now-empty, deceptively tranquil, harbour, but filled with ships taking the Acadians to God-knows-where back then.

I stood here for a very, very long time, realizing that their lives and families were ripped from them. Their agony is still palpable. They did absolutely nothing, aside from simply existing, to deserve this.

We have literally no idea what became of many of these people, or their children. I’m certain that this list of my ancestors is not comprehensive.

  • Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, born about 1703, married Jacques Lore/Lord, and died after 1742. Nothing more is known.
  • Jacques dit Montagne Lord/Lore, born about 1678, married Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, was probably deported to New York and died in 1786 in Quebec.
    • Honore Lore/Lord, born 1742 to Jacques Lore/Lord and Marie Charlotte Bonnevie, fought in New York in the Revolutionary War and died in 1818 in Quebec.
  • Jean LePrince, born about 1692, married Jeanne Blanchard and died sometime after 1752, probably either in Les Mines or after deportation.
  • Jeanne Blanchard, born about 1675, married Jean LePrince, death unknown
    • Marie Joseph LePrince, born in 1715, married Jacques DeForest, and died after 1748, probably in Connecticut.
  • Francoise Dugas, born 1679, married Rene DeForest, son Jacques DeForest. She may have died about 1751 or perhaps during or after the deportation.
    • Jacques DeForest, born in 1707, married Marie Josephe LePrince and died in Connecticut sometime after 1763.
      • Marguerite DeForest, born in 1747 to Jacques DeForest and Marie Josephe LePrince, died in Quebec in 1819.
  • Rene Doucet, born about 1678, married Marie Anne Broussard, death unknown
  • Marie Anne Broussard, born in 1686, married Rene Doucet, death unknown.
    • Anne dit Jeanne Doucet, born in 1713, married Daniel Garceau, was deported to Connecticut, and died in 1791 in Quebec.
    • Daniel Garceau, born in 1707, married Anne Doucet, was deported to Connecticut, and died in 1772 in Quebec.
      • Appoline dit Hippolyte Garceau, born in 1742 to Daniel Garceau and Anne dit Jeanne Doucet, deported with her parents and died in 1788 in L’Acadie, Quebec.

Of course, it’s not “just” these people – it’s their families too. Children, grandchildren, siblings, nieces and nephews, and sometimes, elderly parents.

Cruelly separated. Gone where?

On December 8, 1755, at least 1664 men, women, and children, all of whom were related to each other, often in multiple ways, suffered this fate – launched into sure and certain Hell from this wharf.

Eventually, I turned and walked back up what’s left of the wharf, knowing that they never had that privilege. They would have given anything to do what I just did.

I walked for them – even decades and centuries later. I felt their agony as they watched this land that they loved become more distant and then disappear, a dot in the distance, as their ship sailed into oblivion. They had never known any other home or lived anyplace other than Acadia.

What were they to do?

How would they survive?

My heart is so very heavy.

The enormity of this genocidal tragedy overwhelmed me and still does. One doesn’t “recover” from something like this.

I walked a block or so into the town where they had once lived, then onto Hogg Island, formerly owned by Jacques Bourgeois, also my ancestor, watching the sun set as I walked – as I knew they had done hundreds of times in their lives.

They must have watched the sun set over their beloved Acadia from the frigid decks of those ships, slipping behind the mountains and winking goodnight – unaware that it would be the last time for all of Eternity.

 

La Chaussée – French Birthplace of Acadia – 52 Ancestors #427

Many of the families that settled Acadia in the New World in what is now Nova Scotia originated in the Poitou region of France before deciding to embark on a life-altering journey to the New World beginning in the early/mid 1600s and continuing through the first half of the 1700s. The history of the Poitou revolves around the wealthy Charles de Menou d’Aulnay (1604-1650), and his family, specifically his cousin Isaac de Razilly. Both were members of the French nobility

De Razilly became governor of Acadia in 1632 and began the settlement of French families in earnest at La Hève, now LaHave, but died unexpectedly in 1635.

D’Aulnay became governor of Acadia following Razilly and served from 1635 to 1650, when he, too, died. D’Aulnay moved the settlement and center of government from La Hève to Port Royal, now Annapolis Royal, in 1635-1636.

During a recent trip to France, I was privileged to visit the location of many of my Acadian ancestors with Claude Beaudreau through his travel company specializing in Acadian tourism travel, Les Voyages DiasporAcadie.

In fact, here’s a photo of our group of cousins.

In case you’re wondering, no, I’m not being paid for this (or any) article, ever, and Claude doesn’t even know I’m doing this. I would take this trip again in a heartbeat. It was that good and I would know more today.

Aulnay

On the way to La Chaussée, we stopped for a photo op at Chateau d’Aulnay, just outside Aulnay.

You can’t get near the Chateau d’Aulnay today. Our bus stopped alongside the road and we took photos through the gate. D’Aulnay was wealthy, but the Acadian pioneers were mostly peasant farmers, with a few craftsmen and trusted others hand-picked for their skilled contribution to the new colony.

The towns of Martaizé, La Chaussée, and the area surrounding Aulnay are known to be the original homelands of many of the Acadian pioneers who lived on d’Aulnay’s land holdings.

You can see that Aulnay is dead center in between, and those two villages are less than four miles apart.

The Cassini map of 1733 shows the La Chaussée de Renouee church and residences to the left of the church.

La Chaussée translates to “the roadway” and La Chaussée de Renouee translates roughly to “the knotweed causeway.”

Of course, back then, every little crossroads village had its own church for the residents who all walked to services. Adjacent the church was, of course, always a cemetery where everyone’s ancestors were buried.

The Road Home

If you’re not Acadian, you’re going to fall in love with La Chaussée today and wish you were. Regardless, there’s a lot of historical information that is relevant to more than Acadian history.

If you are Acadian, get tea or maybe a glass of wine, and Kleenexes, because I’m taking you back in time.

The bus rocked gently back and forth, but if you dozed off, you could easily have been napping in the back of a coach or wagon, lulled by the steady rhythm of the horses.

As we drove along the quaint backroads of France, we felt like we were literally on the road home.

Excitement mounted as we neared La Chaussée, then saw the sign beside the field.

Around another curve or two, the buildings began to appear.

In these storied villages, filled with history, the roads nearly touch the sides of the buildings that were built here long before the roads existed.

These stones hold the secrets of the past, our past.

The old often blends gracefully with the new. The 20th century shoring up the 19th that shored up the 18th, and so forth.

The gardens, courtyards, and farms hold a medieval charm never found stateside.

You know when you’re approaching the center of a village because the houses get progressively older. Except they are not characterized as old, but are wise witnesses to the past and stunningly beautiful – visually transporting us back to the time when our ancestors probably lived in these very houses.

There are few houses in any small village. Everyone knew and was related to everyone else.

You can hear the lady next door calling out to see if you have any salt, or calling someone to get the midwife because her baby is going to arrive shortly.

Or maybe, sending someone to fetch the priest.

Homes are clustered closely and often share walls. Sometimes, new homes or newer structures are built adjoining ancient ones, melding centuries.

Often homes too deteriorated to restore and maintain become the next generation of barns.

The old blends with the modern. Children who gaze out the windows are very probably related to Acadian children who gazed out the same windows centuries ago. They would be related to today’s Acadian descendants in hundreds of ways, their common ancestors reaching back countless generations to the time when Julius Caesar mentioned the inhabitants of this region, calling them the “Piktones.”

The Gallic Piktone tribe became the French who inhabited the Poitou region, some of whom became the Acadian settlers who pioneered settlement in Nova Scotia, then were scattered to the winds in 1755.

We have returned home, much like the swallows that return to the Mission at San Juan Capistrano

Acadian history and culture reach deep into this soil.

The oldest structures are always found at the crossroads, which means sometimes they haven’t survived, and buildings that are still old, just not as ancient, take their place today.

Of course, in the center of the village, which is always the original settlement, we inevitably find the church – the heartbeat of the village. The lives of the villagers revolve around religious rituals and their faith – from birth until death do us part.

La Chaussée

Welcome to La Chaussée, birthplace of Acadia!

In the travel tour book provided during our adventure, Claude notes that half of the La Chaussée parish entries between 1626 and 1650 can be linked to about 20 of the 53 Acadian family names found in the 1671 Acadian census.

The 1671 Acadian census in Nova Scotia included the following French surnames by many various spellings. Bolded names represent males found in this census. Some of the original settlers had clearly died by that time. In other cases, women may have married in France, or their father and brothers, if any, had already died in Acadia. One or the other of those circumstances is why females had their birth surname listed, but had no paternal male line in Acadia in 1671. Those surnames are not bolded.

  • Aucoin
  • Babin
  • Bagard
  • Bajolet
  • Bayon
  • Beliveau (Bellieveau)
  • (de) Bellisle
  • Belou (Blue) (Bleu)
  • Bertrand
  • Blanchard
  • Boudreau (Boudrot)
  • Bourg
  • Bourgeois
  • Breau (Brode)
  • Brot
  • Brun
  • Caissy (Kuessy) (Scottish surname)
  • Chebrat
  • Claude
  • Colleson
  • Comeau
  • Cormier
  • Corporon (La Tour)
  • Cyr (Sire)
  • Daigle (Daigre)
  • D’Entremont
  • Doucet
  • Dugas (Dugast)
  • Dupeaux (Depuis) (Dupont)
  • (de) Foret (Forest)
  • Gaudet
  • Gauthier
  • Gauterot (Gautrot)
  • Gillebault (Guillebault)
  • Girouard
  • Gougeon
  • Granger (Grange)
  • Guerin
  • Guilbaut
  • Guyon
  • Hebert
  • Helie
  • Joffriau
  • LaBatte
  • Lalloue
  • Lambelot
  • Lambert
  • Landry
  • Lanoue
  • LaTour
  • LeBlanc
  • Lefevbre
  • LeFranc
  • LeJeune
  • Martin
  • Melancon (Melanson) (Huguenot, perhaps English)
  • Mercier
  • Mius (Muis) (also d’Entremont)
  • Morin
  • Nicollas
  • Ouestnorouest
  • Pellerin (Pelerin)
  • Pelletret (Peltret)
  • Peselet (Pesseley)
  • Petitpas
  • Pitre
  • Poirier
  • Poulet
  • Rau
  • Richard
  • Rimbault
  • Robicheau (Robichaud)
  • Sallee
  • Savoie
  • Terriau
  • Thibodeau (Thibeaudeau)
  • Trahan
  • Vigneau
  • Vincent

Some of the Acadian lineages are found in La Chaussée, including Brun, Belliveau, Breau, Chabrat, and Chaumoret, and several others are likely from there or nearby.

Jean Chabrat is my ancestor, born to Antoine Chabrat and Francoise Chaumoret and baptized on February 5, 1627, in La Chaussée. She was probably born either that day or the day before. It would have been a short walk to the church for the father or other family member.

Today, we will find their origins in this small crossroads village in the French countryside.

Click to enlarge image

La Chaussée really is a tiny crossroads. We’re going on a walk together, so here’s the aerial view with a few labels to help you orient yourself.

La Chaussée was and is a tiny, dense village. You can see the church and the buildings just to the left, with a small walkway in between. Those would be the buildings drawn on that 1733 map.

We were all VERY excited to arrive. Everyone spilled out of the bus and began taking photos.

For many Acadians, this is ground zero.

In La Chaussée , the Maison de l’Acadie and the church mark the crossroads where our cousins awaited our arrival.

The welcoming committee was waiting for our bus to arrive. This small Acadian museum, staffed by volunteers, is attached to and shares a wall with the church.

Seeing this for the first time, knowing my ancestors literally walked here brought tears to my eyes. I was overwhelmed by a sense of awe.

Awash in a sense of place.

Our cousins greeted us by waving Acadian flags in welcome.

Across the street, a street sign made it official and announced where we were.

I couldn’t help myself, I had to take a closeup of the snails on the white cover at bottom left below the street sign. Even the snails are beautiful here!

Rue des Acadiens translates to “Street of the Acadians.”

This wall is ancient and likely stood, protecting the home of an Acadian family or someone related to one. At that time, they weren’t Acadians yet, but they soon would be.

The narrow walkway between the church and another ancient building, today’s village hall, at left.

The pathway and archway are important. We will pass beneath it, as our ancestors did.

I felt that this was a portal into the past, and it actually was. Wait until you see what I found.

But first, we turned and entered the church through the doorway that you can see, at right, before the steps.

Walking into Notre Dame de La Chaussée where my ancestors celebrated and grieved all of their life’s events was simply breathtaking – as in steal your breath away and transport one through time.

Local lore says that the Acadian families prayed here before leaving on their long journey, from which there was no return.

Those who stayed behind would have known that they would never see their family members who left – so this was a mammoth decision. The family story that they prayed for guidance would have brought comfort to those remaining in La Chaussée  – understanding that their family members were doing God’s work, or at least had asked His blessing.

Returning home, almost 400 years later, was equally as emotional. I hope somehow they knew.

You can read more about the church, here, and here, in French. I have translated relevant portions using ChatGPT.

Razilly and d’Aulnay were the Seigneurs of La Chaussée, which means that they owned the land and charged rent to the peasants who farmed here.

From the brochure:

Why not let yourself be surprised by the first contact with this church, then sit on one of the old benches in its nave and let yourself be penetrated by its simple and captivating atmosphere? Why not think for a moment of all those inhabitants of La Chaussée who prayed here? Why not evoke all those that Charles Menou d’Aulnay, governor of Acadia, recruited to populate New France and who were led across the Atlantic by the lord of the town, Mr. Le Godelier, in the 17th century?

Prior to reading this brochure, I didn’t realize that the “lord of the town,” which I’m presuming would be something equivalent to the mayor, actually led a group of people to Acadia that had been actively recruited.

Welcome to the church of our ancestors.

A basin, probably for Holy water, by the entrance.

Our cousins and guides did their best to make it inviting and decorated accordingly, or maybe I should say, Acadianly. Here, the flags of both Acadia and Acadiana.

From the brochure, you can see many of these items in the photo above and below.

    • The statues of Saint Thérèse of the Child Jesus and Saint Radegonde, on either side of the altar, and of Saint Anthony of Padua, between the choir and the chapel, are more indicative of popular devotions.
    • The stained glass window, featuring Saint Paul and Saint Genevieve, was offered by Julie Goudon de La Lande.
    • In a beautiful Gothic niche, to the right of the altar, a statue of Saint Roch evokes the formidable plague epidemics that decimated populations from the 14th to the 17th century.
    • Roch, born in the 14th century into a wealthy family in Montpellier, became a hermit and spent a large part of his life on pilgrimage. Legend has it that when he was afflicted with the plague, he took refuge in a forest where a dog belonging to a nobleman came to feed him. Along with Saint Sebastian, he is invoked during epidemics. He is often depicted as a pilgrim (with a hat, staff, and panetière…), showing his leg with a sore caused by a bubo, and accompanied by a dog holding a loaf of bread in its mouth.
    • To the left of the altar, you should notice a beautiful Pietà from the 15th century, unfortunately mutilated.

This child, whom you have joyfully engendered to the song of angels, now you receive him from the cross in your sorrowful arms. Have compassion on Christ and his mother, faithful soul, if you want to rejoice eternally with them in heaven. Jesus, son of God, take pity on me, by virtue of the prayers of your joyful mother, save me through the cross, lead me to true light, with you, I will rejoice in heaven.

Thomas de Kempen – “a Kempis” – (1379-1471)

I wonder how badly impacted this region was by the plague that swept through Europe from the 1300s to the 1600s, again and again.

The plague arrived in France with a vengeance in 1347, spreading rapidly and being interpreted as God’s wrath. Roughly half of the population died in a five-year period, with estimates ranging from 40% to 60%. We know for sure that half of the people living in Paris and 60% of the population of Florence died.

It took another 150 years for the population to recover to pre-pandemic levels, which would have been about a century before the Acadians began to immigrate.

Plague outbreaks ebbed and flowed across the next several centuries, with the last French epidemic raging in 1720, after most of the Acadians were already settled far away in Acadia. They were facing a scourge of a different kind.

The cemetery outside this church would have been filled with plague victims, somehow singled out by God to suffer and die for their evil deeds, while others were chosen to live.

According to the University of Iowa, as with more recent epidemics, home remedies, mostly hopeful, sprang up, along with advice, including:

  • Plague is a scourge from God for your evil deeds – by scourging yourself with a whip like a flagellant, then God has no reason for scourging you with plague.
  • Apply a mixture of tree resin, roots of white lilies, and human excrements.
  • Bathing should not be avoided, and be done with vinegar and rosewater—alternatively in your own urine.
  • Drink the pus of lanced buboes.
  • Quarantine people for 40 days (quarantine comes from Latin for 40) – first done in Venice in 1348.
  • Place a live hen close to the swellings to draw out the pestilence then drink a glass of your own urine twice a day.
  • Grind up an emerald and drink it in wine.
  • Ingest snakeskin, a bone from the heart of a stag, Armenian clay, precious metals, aloe, myrrh, and saffron.
  • Roast the shells of newly laid eggs, and grind them to a powder – add Marigold flowers and treacle – drink in warm beer every morning and night.

If the plague didn’t kill you outright, some of these cures just might.

Look at those ancient stones in front of the table with the cross, worn concave by hundreds of years of worshipers’ feet. My ancestors would have trod on those very stones.

Be still my heart.

I noticed some broken statuary, tucked respectfully into a corner, likely for protection.

It was probably whole when they worshipped here.

ChatGPT translated part of the French document about the church, which says:

To conclude, we take the opportunity to highlight two sculpted elements:

    • The statue of the Virgin of Pity (or Pieta) unfortunately amputated of the heads of Jesus and his mother (during the revolution?) dated from the 15th century. It was once painted in polychrome. Its execution quality is remarkable.
    • The lower fragment of the statue of Saint George or Saint Michael fighting the dragon (of which a clawed paw is visible at the back) also dated from the 15th century. The leggings and armored shoes of the fighting saint are perfectly visible.

As a little anecdote, one of these statues was found in a cache made in a wall of the church during work undertaken in the neighboring house.

Given that this does not look like a statue of Mary and Jesus, I’m presuming it’s Saint George or Saint Michael.

Regardless, given that it dates from the 1400s, and the French Revolution didn’t occur until 1789, this statue was very likely intact and installed someplace in the church here when Acadian ancestors lived.

This little area is the transition between the older and newer parts of the church. There’s a buttress rising above.

Rear steps in the original part of the church, but not the original doors, according to the church history. Piscinas for Holy Water, perhaps, on each side?

I don’t know what the worn-away areas are in the back walls of the little alcoves, but they remind me of generations of fingers that wore areas like this in the limestone in some of the Hospitalier buildings on the Camino de Santiago – worn away over centuries by those seeking blessings or communing with the Lord.

My ancestors climbed these steps.

I walked in their footsteps.

Me, at far right, taking it all in – or trying to.

I’m actually inside the church of generations of my ancestors. Where they began and ended their lives. Where they came to baptize, bury, and marry.

Jeanne Chebrat’s parents, who stood in this very church and baptized their daughter, were 11 generations removed from me, assuming that this Jeanne Chebrat is my Jeanne Chebrat. But there were untold and unnamed generations before her.

I don’t know when the “new” portion of the church was built, but the history says that the building was extensively remodeled in the early 1500s with the addition of the south chapel which is open to the choir. That means that this church, structurally pretty much as is, was here when Jeanne was baptized in 1627. The stained glass windows apparently came later.

Given that the church was originally built in the 1200s, it’s probable that another dozen generations of my ancestors worshipped here – and are buried outside.

As I sat in the front pew, I closed my eyes slightly, staring at the stained glass and transported myself back in time to hear the Priest as he would have baptized and buried so many generations of my ancestors.

I heard the droning of his voice, in unintelligible Latin, then the melodic singing of the church members.

These murals – I couldn’t believe my eyes.

I raised my gaze in awe as I saw what they saw. Trying with my vision to reach across the centuries.

What did they think?

They couldn’t read the Latin in the Bible, but they surely understood the drawn images on the murals.

Did they interpret them as encouraging or threatening? At least one, Saint Lucia, a martyr, is depicted being brutally killed.

I walked along the walls of the church to see what was in the little alcoves or niche, as the church’s document calls this.

Murals surround the statue. In the bottom of the alcove is a square hole and on either side are round ones.

The documentation states that this mural was degraded by what it refers to as a “large niche housing a liturgical sink.”

In old Catholic churches, holes in the bottom of alcoves are piscinas that allow the Priests to pour sacramental wine or Holy water used in and left over from masses into the wall of the church to return to the earth so that it could not be harvested for nefarious purposes, such as witchcraft.

These incredible murals were discovered a few years ago, but the church does not have the funds to restore them.

Dating from the 1200s, these murals were, until recently, hidden beneath plaster.

Here’s what the La Chausse document says about the murals, translated to English using ChatGPT:

While the entirety of the church walls seems to retain painted panels covered with several layers of plaster, only those of the oldest nave are currently considered worthy of being revealed. The others, more recent and more fragile, keep their mysteries and certainly their beauty. These narrative scenes on the walls of the western nave are authenticated from the late 13th century.

The south panel is truncated by the piercing of a large niche and the modification of the former opening. However, the north panel is almost complete.

The conservation states of the decorations are uneven, making the work of updating and restoration perilous. The oldest decor, depicting martyrs, occupies almost the entire surface of the two south and north walls of the first bay. These decors have been prioritized for conservation and presentation. To the north, it is partially covered by a very altered Saint Christopher, of which only the upper part of the body remains (estimated from the 16th century).

Unfortunately, the lower part was chipped away during the redoing of the plasters from the ground up to about 1.45m in height during the late 18th century. This Saint Christopher has been preserved as is as a punctual testimony but also because it was not wise to risk finding nothing underneath. The three adjacent registers occupy the entire wall (covered in the center by the 16th-century Saint Christopher). Only the left panel reveals a name: Saint Cecilia (Sancta Cecilia), while the right panel is too altered to allow any reading.

The south wall presents three well-visible panels, unfortunately degraded in the middle by the piercing of a large niche housing a liturgical sink, and also degraded along its entire length up to 1.40m from the ground. The three identified saints are martyrs: Saint Catherine (Sancta Catharina), Saint Anastasia (Sancta Anasta sia: the saint’s head is interspersed in the middle of the name), and Saint Lucy (Sancta Lucia). Executioners performing their grim task can also be identified.

I’d love to know more about the messages in these stunning old murals from centuries ago.

What stories were they trying to tell? Were they just religious interpretations from the Bible, or were there historical aspects from this region interwoven, too?

Who painted the murals?

Do other churches from this timeframe have murals?

How rare are these?

What were our ancestors told about them?

Notice the old iron candle holder, at far right, that would have lit the inside of the church in the darkness.

Look how thick these walls are.

This old window may have been original. The oldest windows in small churches often didn’t have colored glass, which was expensive.

My ancestors would have sat in these small pews, or similar ones, with their neighbors who were all family members, I’m sure, perhaps daydreaming as they looked out the windows. The sermon would have been in Latin, not French, so they had lots of time to think.

Is it going to rain?

I wonder if I should plant seed yet?

Is the cute boy two pews behind me noticing my new dress and bonnet?

Should I visit my sweetheart’s father and ask for her hand in marriage?

What if he says no? What do I do then?

Am I pregnant again?

I forgot to go to confession.

Should I go to the new world?

The extent of the oldest part of the church, the west nave, is seen here. These very old murals are only found in the oldest portion of the church, although apparently, some are still covered in the newer part.

The fact that experts don’t feel that they can uncover and save the newer murals makes me sad.

This is what my ancestors would have seen, looking towards the older end of the church from beneath the buttress, the dividing line between the newer and older.

Who sat where? Was there a hierarchy? Did the moms with babies sit near the doors? Did sinfulness or money matter, or was seating first come, first choose?

Notice the unevenness of the stones on the floor.

This is the only detailed photo I managed to take of the side chapel by the door in the new portion of the church. “New” is a matter of perspective, because even this new part built in the 1500s is older than America.

From the brochure:

The altar of the side chapel is the altar of the Virgin, as indicated by its monogram formed by the intertwined letters M and A (Ave Maria) and the statue of the Virgin with the Child.

This looks like a Crusader’s cross to me. That’s entirely possible, given that the Crusades occurred in the 1100s and 1200s.

Claude near the altar.

I wonder if the white statues in those alcoves above the two wooden doors were there when our ancestors worshipped here. I would presume that they were.

Unfortunately, I didn’t take closeups of the items on the altar as there was a lot going on up there. I felt a bit intimidated and didn’t want to get in the way. Of course, now I wish I had a photo of at least that Pieta – but I didn’t realize there WAS a Pieta until after I was back home.

Given that French is not my native language, I also misunderstood and thought that the newer part of the church was built after the Acadians left. It was not, but it was remodeled long after they departed.

Look at those ancient steps along the side wall of the new portion of the church and the blue remnants of a mural.

The Madonna and child.

Every mother and her child.

We listened to and sang a French Acadian song that had great meaning and brought tears to those who grew up Acadian or in the Acadian diaspora. Anne-Christine, one of our guides, is playing the music from her phone.

Jim took a photo of the group of cousins as they sang.

This church is actually quite small. Just a little country church. These always speak to me, more so than larger churches. I experienced a deep feeling of belonging.

We all felt that we had returned home.

Notice the darkened arched doorway, at right.

I’m going to explore. (I can’t even begin to tell you how many times this phrase has gotten me into trouble over the years.)

This is inside the arched doorway to the right in the new part of the church. I’m not sure what the small stone archway near the floor was.

It kind of looks like an old oven, but an oven would not be in a church and not on the floor.

The bell tower with a modern ladder reaching to the top.

Looking upward. Imagine the people who would have originally climbed all these levels to ring the bell on some type of wooden ladder.

Say your prayers first.

Having said that, I’m sure that every little boy aspired to climb the bell tower ladder and ring the bell. Maybe it was a rite of passage.

Plaque honoring the Brun and Braud line.

These people are not my ancestors, at least not that I know of, but with Acadians, you never know for sure about some of the unknown wives. Even if they weren’t directly my ancestors, since our families all lived within walking distance of this crossroads for time immemorial, you know they were all somehow related and probably many times over.

There’s an Acadian saying that is absolutely true, “If you’re related to one Acadian, you’re related to all Acadians.”

I am standing beside the first pew, looking back into the old portion of the church through the newer portion. By the 1600s, when Jeanne Chebrat was baptized here, the parishioners would probably not have realized that there was an older and a new portion of the church. The older portion had already been in place for several generations, and the oral history probably didn’t descend to them. For those people, all that really mattered was that this was their church and played a crucial role in their everyday lives. It was just “the church” that had always been there.

Given the large number of children born to each family, there were an equal number of baptisms and eventual deaths. Almost universally, those who didn’t die married. Many people would have visited the church multiple times each week, not just on Sunday.

The church bell summoned people and often announced a death. The local communications medium long before the phone.

I can see the spirits of my ancestors here.

This part of the church, to the rear beyond the arch, with the murals, is the oldest portion of the church from the 12th century. The church was built here only after people were settled in the region and, of course, after Christianity took root.

I wish I could put my feelings into words. Some combination of awe, gratitude, and a knowing in my soul.

I slipped quietly outside.

Something, or someone, was calling me.

“Daughter…follow me…”

“I’m coming!”

Exploring

Outside the church door, I turned right and stepped through the old archway, heading towards the rear of the church.

To the right is the original, oldest portion of the church, more than 800 years old.

Clearly, at one time, there was either another entrance or another chapel.

I turned and glanced in the other direction, to my left, and suddenly…I drew a sharp breath.

I knew exactly what I was seeing.

Glory be!!!

The old well.

Moreso than even the church, the communal well was the lifeblood of a small village.

No one, not man or beast, can survive without clean water.

This well would have provided life-giving water to my ancestors and their ancestors too.

I felt my mother standing beside me.

We stood there for a long time, just drinking everything in.

I didn’t want to move, because I didn’t want the feeling of Mom beside me to dissipate, but eventually, I had to.

I invited Mom to come with me on a walk.

The Walk

I decided to take a walk in this ancient ancestral crossroads and see what else awaited.

The spirits weren’t finished showing me around.

A beautiful cross marked the entrance to a walled communal park-like garden area by the church. This is the area marked on the old map with houses. I entered.

I was alone. No one else was here.

This, too, was ancient, and as I stood here, I couldn’t help but wonder if this was the old cemetery. However, it’s probably more likely, given the ancient houses, that this was the communal yard in front of all of the homes.

The entire area was walled.

The archway at far left in the photo leads to the well. This would have been the original village and assuredly where the original villagers lived before expanding across the street from the church..

The back of these buildings shares the arched walkway with the wall of the church.

Whatever this was, it’s quite old and was here originally.

Original peasant homes were small and often shared with animals, or animals were housed in the other “half” of the building.

The walkway with the wood box area above probably at one time led directly to the church door. Today, this building is the village hall.

The back wall of this building is the side of the arched walkway.

The well is in this open archway that passed through to where I was standing earlier.

These beautiful, sacred old stones were placed in the surrounding wall by the inhabitants of La Chaussée. Building communal walls was probably a community effort.

The community bulletin board provides information to residents. I have no idea what it says.

However, the QR code takes you to this village link: https://lachaussee86.com/

That QR code seems like something from the far future here.

This grapevine may be as old as the building!

I desperately want to know what this is, but I have no idea. I also wanted one of those rocks but didn’t touch them. If there had been someone to ask if I could have one, I would have.

They’ve reinforced the original construction. You can see the foundation boulders, stones, and beams.

Windows, but no glass or shutters, so I’m not sure what this is.

This must have been the churchyard or a cross placed to bless and protect the villagers.

I can’t help but think of my mother.

I stood here for a very long time.

How my ancestors must have prayed for Divine guidance.

I turned around and crossed the courtyard one last time, thinking how many times my ancestors had done that exact same thing.

Through the Archway

I stepped through the covered archway that sheltered the well, into the area behind the church.

To my left was what remained of the churchyard, which was, at first glance, nondescript.

To the right was the beautiful old entrance to the church.

The flight of stone steps led down from these double doors to the double piscinas on both sides.

From the outside, it looks like this facade might have been added.

The report on the condition of the church contains information about this, the west nave entrance, and the required restorations to prevent further decay.

It was during the summer of 2016 that the municipal council considered undertaking works in the Church of Notre Dame de La Chaussée due to significant humidity rising from the ground, attributed to the building’s low-lying structure. This humidity is accompanied by severe contamination from microorganisms, such as green algae, at the lower parts of the walls and the floor of the west nave. This issue is also exacerbated by the absence of gutters on the entrance porch and by infiltrations on the building’s buttresses. Due to its listing as a historical monument, the designation of a heritage architect was necessary and mandatory. The various funding searches, administrative procedures, and various authorizations finally allowed the work to begin at the end of 2018. Major external drainage, roofing, and masonry work were planned, accompanied by essential archaeological research. Some remnants of objects and bones have been collected and are currently being dated in a specialized laboratory. Simultaneously, research for possible painted decors has been undertaken by specialists (Atelier Moulinier from Vendôme).

I’m dying to know about those bones! Whose bones are they, and how did they get there? Where, exactly, were they found?

You can see the church, along with the archway joining the church to the buildings alongside. These would have been the original village buildings, clustered together for protection. Of course, the well served them all.

Much of the area behind the church has been paved.

This now stone-filled archway may well have been the original entrance or perhaps a long-gone chapel.

The Crusades ended about the time the original church was built, but the Hundred Years War broke out not long after. It seems that France has never been peaceful, and the peasants had a LOT to pray about.

I turned around to walk behind the church.

The Churchyard

I stepped into the small grassy area between the church and the home behind the church.

The church has graciously placed benches, I’m assuming for both rest and reflection.

I walked into the grassy area, trying to determine if this had once been the cemetery. Was there any hint left, at all?

I turned around to see the church through beautiful blooming trees.

The blossoms framed the steeple beautifully.

Descendants of the people who lived here hundreds of years ago probably mingle outside on Sunday mornings now – much like our ancestors did in the past.

As I continued to walk around the church, I noticed the petals from the flowering trees had collected along the path.

Pink snowflakes mixed with the beautiful dandelions and other wildflowers that nourish the bees, descendants of the bees that nourished our ancestors with their honey a long time ago.

I couldn’t help but think of the analogy about the Acadians, blown on wild winds across the world, yet, finding our way back again.

This area, too, may have been the cemetery. One thing is for certain: it was one place or the other and adjacent to the church. I suspect, here, behind the church rather than in the other area due to the proximity to the well, the courtyard arrangement, and the villagers’ homes.

April is beautiful in France and touches the soul.

I noticed, from this view, the old iron support in the rear of the wall near the archway walk. That form of wall support is ancient, too.

The well is located in that archway.

The tiny cross on the original portion of the roof is visible here.

Sometimes it’s the little things. I suspect this was original and they all viewed this same cross – since the 1200s.

I turned around and noticed an iris blooming – one that looked exactly like Mom’s.

Yes, Mom was definitely here with me. I would have said a prayer for her soul, except her soul didn’t need a prayer.

Instead, I simply gave thanks for being here, for her strength in the face of unbelievable adversity, most of which has never been revealed.

Did she inherit that fortitude from these hearty people, survivors of the plagues, brave enough to forge on ahead to an unknown world?

God bless you, Mom.

Thank you for this sign.

Even as fully grown adults, sometimes we need the presence of our mother.

I smiled and walked around to the far side of the church.

You can see the window well that is probably 3 feet deep that one looks up into when inside the church. Those daydreaming windows.

This church was built into the slope of a hillside.

The bell tower is in the newer part of the church.

I was incredibly glad that I was able to take this sacred walk alone in the churchyard, especially finding the well.

The Walk

Next, I decided to walk down the small road.

The roads here are so small that they are paved, but there are no center lines. Pretty much everyone is courteous in the countryside, and no one needs lines.

Ancient walls whisper their secrets, amid the doors offering entrance into their mysteries. Houses were attached to the walls and often barns as well.

Was this perhaps where my ancestors lived?

Hundreds of years ago, someone had to be the first to build this beautiful “new” farmhouse when there was no more room in the little village enclosure beside the church.

The bowed roof tiles speak to the age of this building, as does the wrought iron support at left. Normally, these wrought iron devices, called tirants, from the verb tirer, to pull, were sunk into the beams of ancient walls to keep the stones from pulling apart near the beams, offering additional support. They usually correspond to upper beams, sometimes to floor levels in multi-floor buildings. Tirants can reach back into the Middle Ages and were still used in the 1500s.

Sometimes, in prosperous cities, the iron was shaped into a year, so a house built in 1592 would have four irons, each shaped into that number, and any extra irons would have been shaped into something decorative.

However, in the countryside, I saw no years, just lots of practical reinforcing tirants.

The newer concrete block structure almost looks obscene beside the building so full of character and heritage.

Peasant homes didn’t have glass panes, so they simply used shutters. Closed them at night and opened them in the morning. Many places still do, although most do have windows inside the shutters now. Last year, I saw a few in southern France that didn’t.

I’m so incredibly glad the current owners have preserved these old buildings with their centuries of history instead of simply tearing them down.

The maintenance must be unreal.

Sometimes one side looks to be from a different century than the other side.

My Dad used to maintain structures like this. He almost never tore anything down, even when he should have.

I love the old holes where the original beams, probably now long rotten, would have been. Even the newer portion on the road-facing side is probably hundreds of years old. The corner has clearly been reinforced.

When our ancestors lived there, this road would have been a simple cart path.

Peering around the corner into the barnyard. Beautiful blending of the old and new. I love the single old stone wall in the more distant building with the red tractor.

Another historic building saved.

Seeing this part of my ancestors’ lives makes me feel infinitely closer to them and what their lives were like.

Whoever you are that has preserved all this – thank you! My heart is bursting with gratitude.

All these buildings were one or two houses from the corner, if you count the church. When I said this was a crossroads village, I meant it literally. There is only one house/farm behind the church until you’re in the “country” with no more buildings for a long way. I’m headed back now – the church is on the right, just before the crossroads.

We’ve come full circle as the Rue des Acadiens sign is located on the wall at left at the corner by the white fence.

Across the road, on the opposite corner, we find a crucifix statue.

The Museum

The museum, attached to the church, is open and very welcoming.

I rejoined my cousins who were touring the museum.

The Acadian Museum shows life as the Acadians knew it.

The sign outside states their mission of retracing Acadian history, including everyday objects. The church “recalls the long prayers said when laborers and craftsmen set off from the towns of Aulnay, Martaise, La Chaussée, and St. Clair.

A bit of history.

It’s safe to say that d’Aulnay and Razilly changed the course of life for millions of people alive today.

Various headdresses worn by Acadian women.

Reproduction of Acadian food cooking in a fireplace.

An Acadian couple in front of their hearth.

An Acadian woman in traditional dress. She made all of the clothes for her family.

An Acadian man. Note the wooden shoes to prevent sinking in the marshlands. The marshlands of the Poitou prepared the Acadians for the marshlands of Acadia. That’s likely at least a part of why they were recruited.

A candleholder, clearly authentic and used.

La Have, the original seat of Acadia from 1632-1636.

Artifacts excavated from the site of the fort in La Have.

A piece of wood from the aboiteau, a type of dyke and sluice system used by the Acadians, from the homestead of Jacques Bourgeois in Beaubassin. He is also one of my ancestors.

We were only here a few hours, but what a world of difference it made.

Maison de l’Acadia translates to “House of Acadians,” but it’s really the home of the Acadians. Home is someplace you can always go back to.

The hospitality of the museum volunteers, most of whom we’re related to somehow, created a wonderful, educational day and truly made us feel at home.

While they were excited when we arrived, you can see their exuberance when we left. We all felt like we had made fast friends with our distant cousins. Much hugging ensued as we boarded the bus.

We couldn’t say thank you enough times.

There were more than a few misty eyes as we bid farewell, adieu, to our cousins at La Maison de l’Acadie.

It’s time to say goodbye, au revior, at least for now, to this tiny crossroads so vastly rich in personal and Acadian history.

_____________________________________________________________

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Claude Dugas (1649-1732), Acadian Octogenarian Armorer – 52 Ancestors #437

Claude Dugas lived more than four score years in Acadia and witnessed a lot of changes during his lifetime. Witnessed is probably far too weak a word.

Claude was born about 1649 in Port Royal to Abraham Dugas and Marguerite Doucet.

He married twice, the first time to Marie Francoise Bourgeois, daughter of Jacques (dit Jacob) Bourgeois and Jeanne Trahan, about 1673, and the second time, after her death, to Marguerite Bourg, the daughter of Bernard Bourg and Francoise Brun, about 1697.

Claude had at least 12 children with his first wife, Marie Francoise, my ancestor, and at least another 10 with his second wife, although the children’s birth years suggest that another 2 or 3 children were born to that marriage.

The early Catholic parish records of Port Royal were destroyed, so we extrapolate Claude and his family members’ birth years from the various census records where they are recorded.

Claude Reaches Adulthood

Immigration into Acadia occurred primarily between 1632, when France regained control of Acadia from the British, and 1654, when France lost control again. Most of the Acadian families, including Claude’s family, arrived during this window of time.

The French regained control of Acadia from the English again in 1667 and wanted a census. Thank goodness they did because the census are the first and sometimes the only records we have to reassemble our Acadian families

In 1671, Claude Dugas is 19 years old and living with his parents, Abraham Dugas (spelled Habraham Dugast) and Marie Judith Doucet. Two of his sisters have married, and Claude is the eldest of his 5 siblings still living at home. His father is an armurier, or gunsmith, and they own 19 head of cattle and 3 sheep. They live on 16 arpents of land.

The census shows them between Thomas Cormier and Rene Rimbault on one side and Michel Richard and Charles Melancon/Melanson on the other.

The village of Port Royal consists of 58 homesteads, quite small by today’s standards. Many of these people are related to each other by now, or soon would be, given that there had been no new French settlers arriving since 1654.

In the Port Royal census of 1678, Claude is missing, but based on where he was in 1679, we can fairly confidently say he had established a home in Beaubassin, a settlement founded by fellow Acadian and his father-in-law, Jacques Bourgeois.

By this time, Claude and Marie would have had two children, with a third probably on the way.

in 1679, in Beaubassin, Claude was a witness to his sister, Anne’s second marriage to Jean-Aubin Mignolt on April 26th. In that record, her surname is spelled Dugast. Her first husband was Charles Bourgeois, the son of Jacques Bourgeois.

In 1681, Claude’s daughter, Marguerite, was born and baptized at Beaubassin on March 19th. The date of her birth was not mentioned in the register, but she was likely born that day or the day before. Her godparents were “sieur Alexandre LeNeuf sr du Beaubasssin and Marguerite Bourgeois who named her Marguerite.”

The Dugas and Bourgeois families were heavily allied and intermarried.

High Drama!

In March 1682, the recently appointed seigneur of Beaubassin Michel Le Neuf de La Vallière sent a summons to eleven inhabitants to appear before the Sovereign Council of Quebec for having refused to accept concession contracts. These inhabitants, presumed to be heads of household who may have represented the entire settlement, were: Pierre Morin, Guyon Chiasson, Michel Poirier, Roger Kessy, Claude Dugas, Germain Bourgeois, Guillaume Bourgeois, Germain Girouard, Jean-Aubin Migneaux, Jacques Belou and Thomas Cormier. Le Neuf was attempting to impose typical seigneurial dues such as the corvée (obligatory labor), such as bulding mills or bake ovens, but was contested by the settlers who eventually won their case in court.

This fledgling settlement, comprised of three groups: Frenchmen, Acadians who had arrived from Port Royal with Jacques Bourgeois, and a few people imported by Le Neuf, might have been small, but there was still high drama.

One man, Francois Pellerin, experienced a long miserable death. Jean Campagnard was his farmhand. On his deathbed, Pellerin accused Campagnard of being a witch, blowing some mysterious substance into his eyes while they were working in the field as part of a diabolical plot to usurp his place as head of the household. Translated – Pellerin meant that Campagnard wanted to marry his widow. That accusation spurred more accusations, launching a “witchcraft hysteria” of sorts. Campagnard was eventually brought to trial in 1684, in which it was revealed that there was a plague in Beaubassin in 1678 that took the lives of several settlers. Coincidentally, 1678 is when accusations towards Campagnard peaked.

Campanard was apparently an outcast, but it’s unclear if that’s part of what spurred the witchcraft accusations, or was a result of such.

Jean-Aubin Mignaux, Claude Dugas’s brother-in-law, accused Campagnard of casting an incantation on his crops to cause a poor harvest. Campagnard said that if his crops failed, it was Mignaux’s fault for having farmed badly.

The Port Royal Bourgeois group tried to avoid this drama. Of the entire Acadian settlement from Port Royal, Germain Bourgeois was the only one to give a deposition in which he said, as a witness to Pellerin’s death, “The man was obviously delirious with fever. I did not take the accusation seriously.”

The trial in Quebec, which took place after Campagnard had been held in jail for 9 months, revealed a dark secret. Many if not most of the men who had accused Campagnard of sorcery owed him money and/or viewed him as a competitor, in the case of several suitors.

Campagnard was eventually cleared of the accusations and found not guilty, but he was also forbidden from returning to Beaubassin – a “punishment” he probably welcomed and was more than glad to honor.

Return to Port Royal

Whatever happened in Beaubassin, for some reason, Claude Dugas returned to Port Royal, although we don’t know if he intended to stay permanently.

In Port Royal in 1686, Claude, age 38, is living with Francoise Bourgeois, 25, with Marie, 12, Claude, 10, Francoise, 6, Joseph, 6, Marguerite, 5, Agnesse, 1, Jeanne, 3, and Anne, 7. They are living on 8 arpents of land with 25 cattle, 9 sheep, and a few hogs. They own 1 gun.

It looks like Francoise and Joseph might have been twins. Future censuses or eventual parish records might tell us more.

His neighbors are Marie Sale (Martin Aucoin’s widow), Antoine Landry, and Francois Broussard, and on the other side, Germain Terriot, Vincent Brun, and Francois Levron.

However, Claude still had one foot in Beaubassin where at “Chiqnitou dit Beaubassin”, he is recorded as owning 30 arpents of land and 8 cattle. Of the 11 men named in the 1682 summons, only one man, Guyon Chaisson is not listed in 1686. Nineteen other residences are recorded, with a total of 119 inhabitants.

Claude seems to have been the only settler to have returned to Port Royal, at least that we know about.

He might have regretted that decision.

The 1690 Attack

1690 was a banner year, and not in a good way. Claude lived right on the water as ships approached Port Royal, so he had a birds-eye view of everything.

Claude would have been 42 that year – a man in his prime.

The Battle of Port Royal occurred on May 19, 1690. The British attacked, and Port Royal was entirely unprepared. The fort was being rebuilt. They only had 70 soldiers in total, and of those, 42 were absent.

Sir William Phips, the English commander, sailed into the harbor with 700 men on seven warships. There was absolutely no question about the outcome.

The soldiers burned 28 homes in and around Port Royal along with the church, although they reportedly spared the “upriver farms” and mills. It’s unclear what exactly was meant by upriver at that time. The 1686 census of Port Royal enumerated 95 families that we know were spread from “beneath” Port Royal to today’s Bridgewater. This means that 30% of the homes were burned.

One thing is for sure, Claude’s land, #15 shown here on the Canadian Park Service website positioned in relation to Port Royal and other homesteads, was not upriver.

While the Acadians had been somewhat used to episodic attacks by the English, this was an exceedingly cruel act of warfare bent on devastation and destruction, not on “taking” Acadia so that life as normal could continue, just under English rule. Instead, the English soldiers tore the dikes down, ruined the fields and farms, killed livestock, and torched everything in sight. As if this devastation wasn’t enough, pirates followed shortly thereafter, burning, pillaging, and looting even more.

Phips didn’t want to simply control and occupy Port Royal. He wanted to conquer and destroy it. He succeeded. He kidnapped and loaded the local priest and some of the soldiers onboard his ship and returned with them to Boston.

Before leaving, Phips required a loyalty oath to be signed by the Acadian inhabitants. The priest took the petition with its signatures with him, and it wound up eventually in the Massachusetts archives where I found it in 2008. I transcribed it, here.

Along with his fellow countrymen, “Claude Dugats” signed with his mark. Most Acadians could neither read nor write. A total of 61 men signed. Of those, 45%, or nearly half, had their homes burned and their farms destroyed by pulling down the dikes that kept the seawater out.

I can only imagine the rage and animosity experienced by the signers as they penned their names or made their marks through gritted teeth. Clearly, they only signed under duress, threat of great harm. I was going to say under threat of death, but I’m fully convinced there are fates worse than death – and that’s what they were facing.

They must have truly hated the English.

Claude surely was thinking about his terrified wife and children. His elderly parents were likely burned out, if Claude and his family weren’t too. Claude’s father, Abraham’s signature is missing from the loyalty oath. I’m not sure what to make of this. Either he was incredibly brave in the face of danger, or he was injured or too ill to sign. Maybe he used his advanced age of 70 or 71 as an excuse why he couldn’t sign.

In the 1693 census, Claude and family are still living at Port Royal. He’s 44, his wife, Francoise Bourgeois is 34, and they have 11 children: Marie, aged 17, Claude, aged 16, Francoise, aged 14, Joseph, aged 13, Marguerite, aged 11, Anne, aged 10, Jeanne, aged 9, Agnes, aged 7, Francois, aged 5, Madeleine, aged 4, and Cecile, aged 1.

Claude is living with his parents who are listed as the head of household. Abraham Dugas is 74 and Marguerite Doucet is 66. The combined family owned 4 guns and was living on 26 arpents of land with 20 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 pigs. I suggest this is evidence that one or both families were burned out in 1690.

Based on the order of the census, they are living very near Port Royal. Beside them we find Michelle Aucoin, the widow of Michel Boudrot and on the other side, Charles Melancon and Marie Dugas, his wife. Jean Bourg is next to them.

You can see Claude’s land at far right, Boudrot to the left of him, and what I believe to be Abraham Dugas’s land at left. Here, he’s referred to as Abraham “armoire”, as best I can make out.

It’s impossible in 1693 to tell if the family is living on Abraham’s original land, or Claude’s, or if that’s really one and the same. Abraham’s land appears to be closer to Port Royal, so he’s more likely to have had his farm burned.

Abraham is now in his 70s, so he’s not likely to be actively farming anymore.

Hard Times

Claude’s wife, Francoise Bourgeois, died sometime between the 1693 census and the baptism of his first child with his second wife, Marguerite Bourg, about 1697. Francoise could have died in childbirth in 1695.

Claude was left with aged parents, no wife, and a dozen children, one of whom might have been a baby. If his fields had been ruined in 1690, they would only be beginning to be productive again as he rebuilt his dikes. After the death of Francoise, he would have wanted to remarry soon. It was a necessity.

He probably remarried about 1696.

Second Marriage

In the 1698 census, Claude is listed as age 49, Marguerite Bourg, noted as his second wife, is age 24, the same age as his eldest daughter who married about 1695. At home is Claude, 21, Joseph, 18, Marguerite, 17, Anne, 15, Jeanne, 13, Agnes, 12, Francois, 11, Madeleine, 10, Cecile, 8, Marie, 7, and Elisabeth, 3 months. Clearly, baby Elisabeth is Marguerite’s daughter. They live on 32 arpents of land with 25 sheep, 25 cattle, and 6 hogs. They have 20 fruit trees and 3 guns.

The ages of his two daughters, Cecile and Marie don’t match the 1693 census, but it’s reasonable to deduce that Marie would have been born later in 1693 or 1694 given that she wasn’t listed in 1693 and Cecile was 1.

They are listed beside Claude’s inlaws, Bernard Bourg and Francoise Brun, and two other Bourg families on one side, and Bonaventure Teriot and Francois Boudrot on the other.

Based on this, Marguerite Bourg clearly joined Claude’s household which was a productive farm. It’s also obvious that the census-taker was traveling by canoe and paddled across the river often. The Bourg family lived on the north side of the river and Claude Dugas lived on the south side beside the Boudrots.

Claude’s parents are not listed in the census which would lead me to surmise that they had both died, but I would be wrong.

In the 1700 census, we find Claude and his family living with his mother who is listed as head of household. Marguerite Doucet, widow of Abraham Dugast (no age given), Claude Dugast, 51, Marguerite Bourg (no age), Claude, 23, Francois, 12, Joseph, 2, Marguerite, 18, Anne, 17, Jeanne, 16, Agnes, 14, Madelaine, 11, Cecille, 8, Marguerite, 3. They have 3 guns, 40 cattle, 25 sheep, and live on 28 arpents of land.

They live between Bonaventure Terriot and Francois Aucoin on one side and Charles Melanson and Marguerite Martin, widow of Jean Bourg, on the other.

In the 1701 census, Claude is listed as 51, wife Marguerite, 30, Claude, 23, Francois, 13, Joseph, 2, Marguerite, 18, Anne, 14, Agnes, 13, Jeanne, 12, Marie, 11, Magdeleine, 10, Cecile, 9, They live on 12 arpents of land, have 3 guns, 20 cattle, 12 sheep, and 10 hogs.

They live beside Pierre Commeau and Germain Savoye on one side and Bernard Bourg flanked by Bonaventure Terriott and Francois Boudrot on the other. Louis Allain, who Allain (Alan) Creek is named for, lives beside Boudrot.

Karen Reader reports Stephen White citing that Claude is an armourer or gunsmith, like his father, as noted in his daughter Marguerite’s marriage record in 1701.

Dictionnaire Généalogique des Familles Acadiennes, Première Partie 1636-1714 – Stephen A. White – 2 vols., Moncton, New Brunswick: Centre d’Études Acadiennes, 1999 – p. 1156 Listed on daughter Marguerite DUGAS marriage contract (LOPPINOT) dated 11 Jan 1701 at Port Royal to be an “armurier.”

The Port Royal parish records don’t begin until 1702, so I’m curious where this record was found. I can’t locate it.

Claude Dugas is reported by researchers to be an armorer in the 1701 census as well, but Tim Hebert did not reflect that in his translation nor did I find it at the Canadian Archives Heritage site. This makes absolute sense, but needs confirmation. If anyone has a source or the documents, please let me know.

The 1703 census only provides the name of the head of household, if he has a wife and the number of boys and girls. Claude had 2 boys and 7 girls. One person in the houshehold is an arms-bearer. The family is listed beside Guillaume Blanchard and Germain Savoie on one side and Jacques Bonnevie and Jacques Michel on the other.

1705 Letter

This 1705 letter from Claude Dugas, found in the Acadian collection in the French archives, provides interesting information, including that Claude lived on his land for 60 years.

I asked ChatGPT to translate and transcribe this letter. If anyone can clarify either the translation or the meaning, please let me know. I’m all ears!

The named Claude Dugas
Heard in the council ordered by
an ordinance of the King’s prosecutor,
rendered on the fifth of March
that he and three other inhabitants
will have to transport a number of four men, the
King’s prosecutors of the country
on the 25th of October last,
in the arrest of the 24th of October in his
own name and by reading
and tending. What he has
he and his obliged the said
complainant to the said country. His
counterpart, he expects the amount
of the high mass and ill-treatment
of the parties and threats of the King.
To stop the bag and dispensation
Rousseau which passes in the middle.

of his lands which he has enjoyed
for sixty years fearing
that he might not make any ob.
threats he offered him payment
which is the currency of sales in
this country but the
prosecutor of the King never wanted
to receive it and he had to.
obliged to seek this money
in cash to satisfy him
which cost him a lot which
makes him a bad subject of
the country. The King does not pay
what he owes to the inhabitants except
in bills and above mentioned.

M. Lomag. T. Henry
begs to give order to the Capt. from
outside who must go to Acadia
to report what I have seen.

I don’t know if the last portion beginning with “M. Lomaq” is part of the Dugas entry or the beginning of the next one. I suspect it’s the following entry.

I sure would like to know what happened, and to better understand the meaning of this letter, including why it was written.

If indeed, Claude Dugas had lived on his land for 60 years, that meant he was also living on his father’s land. In 1705, Claude would have been about 55 or 56. He’s not even 60 years old. However, his father, Abraham was born about 1616, so this tells us that Abraham probably was living on this land in 1645, or even earlier. Maybe the letter-writer, assuming it actually was written on behalf of Claude, was trying to convey that Claude had lived his entire life on this land.

1707 – The Map Year

In the 1707 census in Port Royal, Claude Dugast is shown with his wife, 1 boy 14 or older, 2 younger boys, 2 girls 12 or older, and 4 younger girls. They live on 10 arpents of land with 30 cattle, 35 sheep, and 18 hogs. Claude has 3 guns.

They live beside Abraham Dugast, Vincent Terriot, and Francois Boudrot on one side and Alexandre Robicheau, La Libertie (aka Roy), and Charles Melanson on the other.

This Abraham Dugast is not his father, but his nephew, the son of his brother, Martin. He is reportedly the man labeled Grivois. Marais de grivois means swampland of grivois. You can see that it’s located just beneath his grandfather, Abraham’s land and not far from his uncle, Claude Dugas.

This amazing map was drawn in 1708 from the 1707 census.

It shows Claude Dugas’s land in detail, including which way his crops were growing and the path of the streams. He had significant holdings. You can also see his neighbor, Boudrot.

Zooming out, you can see Claude’s father-in-law, Bernard Bourg across the river, and then at left, what I believe is his father, Abraham, followed by what I believe is “armoire”.

Zooming out a little more, you can see the Melanson settlement at bottom right. Charles Melanson married Claude’s sister.

The provenance of the map is disheartening, though.

Port Royal was a lightning rod. It simply wasn’t safe. No one ever forgot what happened in 1690.

This could explain why Claude’s son, Claude Dugas, with wife Jeanne Bourg, is shown with 2 boys less than 14, 1 girl less than 12 on 6 arpents of land with 10 cattle, 7 sheep and 6 hogs in Cobequid.

He had left Port Royal for the next, hopefully safer, frontier.

Cobequid

Cobequid, now Masstown, was founded by the Bourg family and a few others. In 1707, there were two Dugas men married to Bourg females and one Bourg Male married to a Dugas female. Additionally, there were three other Bourg males and three other males married to Bourg females. Other surnames were familiar Acadian families: Blanchard, Theroit, Hebert, Guerin, Aucoin, Gautrot, and more.

Claude’s sons were responsible for founding the Dugas Village in Cobequid, very near the Bourg and Hebert Villages.

The Archaeology in Acadia Facebook group published the following:

What happened in 1707?

What fresh Hell was Claude living through?

Twice in 1707, the English tried to conquer Acadia. The French troops and Acadian men, assisted by the Wabanaki Confederacy, stymied their attempts, but it wasn’t without damage.

The first siege attempt began on June 6th and lasted 11 days. Inexperienced English commanders and their 1000 men could not land their cannons to fire upon the Acadian fort at Port Royal. Once again, Claude had front-row tickets.

As luck would have it, about 100 French soldiers were stationed at the fort, plus another 60 who were due to take command of a recently built frigate. Fortuitously, about 100 Abenaki Indians had arrived at the fort just hours earlier, a Native force that often defended Acadia. The local militia consisted of about 60 men and was quickly summoned.

The English attempted to form a siege line around the fort but were too distant. They marched towards the fort but wound up establishing camps about 1.5 miles (2.4 km) from the fort. Canadian Governor Subercase, whose horse had been shot out from under him the previous day, sent parties out of the fort to harass English foraging parties, giving rise to rumors that additional militia forces were en route from northern Acadia.

This map shows the approximate location of Claude Dugas’s homestead in relation to the fort.

The English departed, regrouped, and returned on August 22nd. This had given the Acadians time to prepare, and they were spitting mad. Luck was also with the Acadians. Pierre Morpain, a legendary French commander and pirate, or so-called privateer, arrived, adding his crew to the defenses, along with the “prize ships” and their cargo that he had captured. Those supplies were needed for the fort.

The English, now about 250 men less than in June, sailed into the bay on warships and dispatched 300 men to try to mount their cannons on land near the fort, but were unsuccessful. Subercase, now prepared, sent forces to harass them. Using guerrilla-style tactics and fire from the fort’s cannons, the English were forced to retreat to their camp

Nine English men were killed while cutting brush, whereupon their commander wrote that they were “surrounded with enemies and judging it unsafe to proceed on any service without a company of at least one hundred men.”

The English retreated to an unfortified camp protected by their ships, but even that didn’t work since the Acadians and Indians swarmed them with sniping attacks, probably appearing out of and disappearing into the marshes.

On the 31st, the English tried to make a second landing in a different location. Subercase himself led 120 soldiers out of the fort, where about 70 soldiers engaged the New Englanders in hand-to-hand combat. The Acadian men were outnumbered but relentless, wielding axes and musket butts.

The Abenaki leader and 20 of his men were wounded and five killed, but the English were cowed. They retreated onto their ships and high-tailed it back to Boston.

The French and Acadians, with their Indian friends, drove the English out of town and Acadia.

The Acadians and French, in their reports, claimed to have killed 200 English men, which would explain their rapid retreat, but the English claimed 16 killed and another 16 wounded.

The English were completely humiliated and embarrassed. They were met with jeers upon their arrival in Boston. Dudley’s commissioners were sarcastically called “the three Port Royal worthies” and “the three champions. Dudley pointed out that many plantations around Port Royal had been destroyed during the two sieges, so all was not a failure.

This assuredly could have meant Claude’s home and lands.

Claude would have been about 57 or 58. Being the feisty Acadian man that he assuredly was, I’m sure he was right there in the fort defending Port Royal along with the rest of the Acadian families. Still, I’m sure he dreaded starting over yet again.

According to the 1707 census, there were 102 married men in Port Royal. The English warships that had their butts whipped by French farmers returned to Boston among ridicule. Unfortunately for Acadia, all this did was strengthen the reserve of the English.

The Acadians had defended Port Royal and won the battle, but…

1710 brought the end of French rule in Acadia with the heartbreaking Siege of Port Royal, in which the French were overpowered and surrendered to the English.

This time, it was the English who were prepared. Despite requests for reinforcements, France did not send additional ships nor troops. They should have.

This 1710 map shows the details of the Riviere du Dauphin just west of the fort.

I suspect that today’s Ryerson Brook is the former Dugas Creek or River on the 1710 map, across from the Melanson Village.

This map showing the 1710 siege plan includes the Dugas habitation. The area looking like fields on the map is noted as “large areas of morrases that by draining and daming out the high tides have made a great part arable.”

The 1710 census shows Claude with his wife, 4 male children, and 3 female children living beside Francois Bodrot (Boudrot) on one side and the Allain family on the other.

Here’s a contemporary map showing the Melanson settlement, a red star by the Ryerson Brook, and Allain’s Creek.

I bet someone in Nova Scotia knows exactly where the old Dugas village was actually located. I wonder if wildflowers grow among the remnants of the foundation stones of their homes.

In 1714, Claude Dugas is listed with his wife, 4 sons, and 5 daughters. They live beside Bernard Bourg and Abraham Bourg on one side and Francois Dugas and De Laurier on the other.

The last census was taken in 1714. The English were now in charge, and no further censuses were taken. However, beginning in 1702, we have parish records that record births, marriages, and deaths.

In 1714, Claude would have been about 65 years old, and his wife, 40. They may have lost a child in 1714, as the previous child was born in 1712. Marguerite would bring their last child into the world in November of 1715 when Claude was about 66.

We know little about what happened in Claude’s world for the next several years except that he and Marguerite were raising his second family of children.

Claude’s Children

Claude’s children scattered throughout Acadia and his descendants, across the globe.

Child Birth Death Spouse Grandchildren
Marie Dugas C 1674 1733 Mines, Grand Pre Philippe Melanson c 1695 Grand Pre 11
Claude Dugas C 1577 Bef Nov. 1723 Cobequid Jeanne Bourg 1702 Grand Pre 5
Francoise Dugas C 1679 Aft 1751 prob after 1755 Rene Forest 1695 Port Royal 14
Joseph Dugas 1680 Port Royal, lived in Cobequid C 1765, St. Martinville, LA Claire Bourg 1699 Port Royal 12
Marguerite Dugas 1681 Beaubassin Bef 1729 Grand Pre Jean Melanson 1701 Port Royal 12
Anne Dugas C 1683 Port Royal Abt 1710 Cobequid Abraham Bourg 1704 Cobequid 3
Jeanne Dugas C 1684 Abt 1726 prob Niganiche (Ingonish) Pierre Part, 1707 Port Royal, lived in Louisbourg 6
Agnes Dugas C 1686 Aft Nov 1734 Port Royal Michel Thibodeau 1704 Port Royal 15
Francois Dugas C 1688 Aft 1734 Claire Bourg 1713 Port Royal 11
Madeleine Dugas C 1689 1766 Becancour, Quebec Jean Hebert 1704 Port Royal 14
Marie Dugas C 1691 Bet 1763 Maryland census and 1772 Richelieu, Quebec Abraham Bourg 1709, Claude Broussard 1754 Port Royal 12
Cecile Dugas C 1692 1760 Riviere-Ouelle, QuebecCanada Claude Brun 1709 Port Royal 13
Second Wife
Elisabeth Dugas 1697 Feb 1733 Port Royal, same day as her son Pierre Aubois 1717 Port Royal 7
Joseph Dugas 1700 Cobequid? Abt 1759 ? Marguerite Coste 1725 Port Toulouse, Isle Royal 3
Marguerite Dugas C 1702 C 1765, St. James Parish, LA Barthelemy Bergeron 1721 Port Royal 12
Louis Dugas 1703 1740 Port Royal Marie Josephe Girouard 1734 Port Royal 3
Claire Dugas 1706 Aft 1767, in Salem Mass in 1756 Charles Amireau or Amirault 1726 Port Royal 4
Marie Anne Dugas 1707 Mass 1755-1763, died 1772 Quebec City Charles Belleveau Oct 1732 Port Royal 9
Charles Dugas 1709 After Aug 1763 at either Fort Beausejour or in LA Anne Robichaud Jan 1732 Port Royal 9
Marie Dugas C 1711 Held hostage in Halifax 1763, Haiti 1765, died 1777 Cavabicey, LA Augustin Bergeron c 1729 4
Claude Dugas 1712 1786 Quebec City Marguerite Boudrot 1734 Port Royal 7
Michel Dugas 1715 1758 Mass, died 1801 Rimouski, Quebec Elisabeth Robichaud 1742 Port Royal 6

Claude is unusual in that he was literally begatting children for more than 40 years and had 22 children that we know of.

Amazingly, all 22 lived to marry and produce offspring.

His oldest child married about 1694 and blessed him with his first grandchild in 1696, about the same time he remarried to his second wife. He had grandchildren older than his younger set of children.

His daughter, Marie Anne, married on October 14, 1732, just two days before the priest penned Claude’s burial record.

All but three of his children married before his death, which is pretty remarkable given that his last child was born when he was 66.

We’re nearly certain that a few of his children died as infants or were stillborn, given the gaps in birth years.

Five of Claude’s adult children died before he did. None of them lived in Port Royal which would be renamed to Annapolis Royal in 1710, so while he probably heard about their deaths, he would not have been able to attend their funerals and celebrate their lives. Or mourn their deaths.

Two children died someplace in Acadia before the deportation. We don’t know what happened to four more, or where. An amazing 11 and probably 12 survived to the 1755 deportation. I don’t know if that was a blessing or not. I surely hope so, but I fear otherwise.

Of course, that gut-wrenching legendary expulsion was horrific. Rounded up like livestock, losing everything, watching your homes and farms burn as you were forcibly separated from your family and loaded onto ships, setting sail for destinations unknown.

Some of Claude’s children were themselves elderly by that time. Francoise would have been about 76, and Joseph was about 77. No spring chickens. Yet, Joseph lived another decade and died about 10 years later in St. Martinville, Louisiana. Sadly, we lose Francoise entirely.

Claude’s children were indeed scattered to the winds of fate.

We know that six eventually made it to Quebec, but that doesn’t mean they even knew their siblings were there. The locations were distant.

We know that Claire was in Massachusetts, but we don’t know anything else, so we should probably presume that she died there.

Three made it to Louisiana. I can’t help but think of Louisiana, then held by the Spanish, ironically, as the Acadian promised land, where the Acadian survivors, at least some of them, gathered and reunited once again.

Charles either died at Fort Beausejour on the Isthmus of Chigneco, where his family was held, or in Louisiana, where some of his children later found refuge. Fort Beausejour, near Fort Lawrence, was where the families from Beaubassin were imprisoned.

Marie and her family were held hostage in Halifax where they were listed as such in 1763, then shipped to Haiti where we find them in 1765, then found their way to Louisiana where she died in 1777. I wonder if she was able to connect with any of her siblings or their children.

What an incredibly joyful reunion that would have been – but oh, the heartache of not knowing the fate of your family members.

For Claude’s children, their days in Acadia, even though they were difficult and fraught with challenges, would turn out to be the good old days. At least they were together. At least they knew if each other was alive.

Claude had an amazing 192 known grandchildren. Assuredly, there were more, especially by his younger children who were still actively having children in 1755 when Le Grand Derangement began, and their lives went up in smoke. It’s a sure bet that Claude had more than 200 grandchildren and quite possibly quite a few more than 200.

The Genealogy Sin

Claude committed one of the great sins of genealogy – he named children with both wives the exact same name. The children probably had nicknames, and they may have had middle names when they were baptized, but since many were born before the existing church records kick in, we have no way of knowing.

I guess both wives wanted a daughter named Marie – but it’s even worse than that. EACH WIFE had two daughters named Marie. Seriously. At least one of them was named Marie Anne.

I guess if you called Marie, either four people answered or no one answered.

There were two sons named Claude, two named Joseph and two daughters named Marguerite too. There was Anne and Marie Anne, but do you call that poor girl Marie or Anne because she already has siblings by both names?

Only 11, or half of the children, didn’t have a duplicate name with a sibling.

Good Heavens!

Claude’s Death

It’s difficult to mourn the death of a man who was in his late 80s or maybe even 90 and had survived so very much to die as an old man surrounded by his family. I think of it more as the final chapter of a well-worn and much-loved book closing.

Claude was able to watch all of his children grow to adulthood, at least the ones who survived beyond infants. His parents lived to be elderly as well. He visited the cemetery less often than his contemporaries, despite having more children. In that respect, he was a very fortunate man.

He probably narrowly escaped death more than once himself, but escape he did.

He did bury his first wife and perhaps a baby with her, which had to have stabbed him in the heart.

Still, he had to go on because animals needed to be fed, crops needed to be sewed and harvested, and there was no time for lingering grief after the funeral.

Claude died and was buried in the cemetery by the church in Port Royal, as shown on this 1686 map, on October 16, 1732. He was approximately 86 (one translation says 90) years old, which means that he was born about 1646 – or perhaps as early as 1642.

Just two days before his death, his daughter, Marie Anne, had married Charles Belleveau, spelled Belivau in the record. I checked to see if Claude had been a witness, but he was not. I do wonder if the priest performed the marriage at Claude’s home so that he could be in attendance, presuming he was frail.

Of course, Claude might not have been frail or ill at all. He could have been healthy right up until the end.

Claude’s burial entry from the registers of St. Jean-Baptiste, the parish church in Annapolis Royal, reads:

L’an mil sept cents trente deux et le sesieme
de octobre je — soussigné ay inhumé
dans le cemitiere du le paroisse de St. Jean
Baptiste Claude Dugast agé ? quatre
vingt-six ans. Le que a donné les marque ?
bon chrestien.

Jacque La Lache missionnaire

Google translation:

The year one thousand seven hundred and thirty two and the sixteenth
of October, by the undersigned priest has been buried
in the cemetery of the parish of St-jean
Baptiste Claude Dugast aged around four
twenty and ten years the quey gave marks of a
good christian

jacque lessclache missionary

Dugas Village

When you have 22 children and upwards of 200 grandchildren, and you live on land adjacent to your father and brothers – it’s no wonder that you wind up having a village named after your family.

The location of the Dugas Village is still shown on this 1741 map, as are the Fort and Allen’s Mill, seen at far bottom right.

I can’t help but wonder if the crosses are chapels, but there seem like an awful lot of crosses for that if you view the larger map.

A 1757 map shows the Dugas Village as Ryersonville, which today either is or is near Upper Clements, or Clementsport, an English settlement founded after Clements Township was set out in 1784. The early name for the community was Ryersonville after early settlers.

I love MapAnnapolis, and I mean LOVE in all caps. They have a wonderful Facebook page, here, where I found this detailed description of the location of both Abraham and Claude’s land. Hallelujah!!!

The rail trail cuts through this land, which means visitors today can drive down the Evangeline Highway or ride or hike the trail, which is located closer to the coastline.

Claude may be gone, buried in an unmarked grave in the churchyard, and his village dissipated after the Acadian removal in 1755 – but he still lives on in the memory and DNA of his descendants.

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Françoise Dugas (1679-after 1751): Goodbye Port Royal – 52 Ancestors #426

Françoise was born about 1679 in Port Royal, the daughter of Claude Dugas and Françoise Bourgeois.

The first record we find of Françoise Dugas is the 1686 census, where she is living with her parents and seven siblings on eight arpents of land in Port Royal, on the peninsula of what is now Nova Scotia. They have 25 head of cattle, 9 sheep, and 11 hogs. She is 8 years old. The family is doing well.

It looks like they may be living near or even in the Melancon/Melanson Settlement, today a historic site, given that in the census, they are living beside Charles Melancon who has married Marie Dugas, a sibling to Claude.

The 1690 Upheaval

In 1690, Françoise was about 10 years old, give or take a year.

Warfare between England and France on the soil of Acadia was just the way life was. An odd form of normal. Always on edge. Always watchful but at the same time carrying out the routines of everyday life. Everyday life is what fed your family. Protecting your farm enabled you to feed your family. The English were always trying to take Acadia, and then the French were always trying to take it back. Rinse and repeat.

Having reverted to French control in 1670, English warships attacked Acadia once again in May of 1690, surprising the unprepared Acadians.

Before approaching the town, William Phips, the fleet’s commander, made contact with Pierre Melanson dit Laverdure, a bilingual French Huguenot. Phips determined the town’s condition, then weighed anchor and sailed further into the bay and up to the town, today’s Annapolis Royal, where the fort was located.

Given where they lived, Françoise would have seen the huge ships passing by. Was she fascinated or terrified?

Fort Anne, which normally stood sentry over the town and harbor, was being torn down and rebuilt. Less than 70 French soldiers were in the garrison, 42 of whom were absent at that time. The French couldn’t defend themselves and surrendered.

After the surrender, the English breached the surrender terms, plundered and burned the town and fort, and desecrated the church after promising they wouldn’t.

In Phips own words, “We cut down the cross, rifled the Church, pulled down the High-Altar, breaking their images,” and on May 23rd, “kept gathering Plunder both by land and water, and also under ground in their Gardens.”

Clearly, the English meant business and behaved in an incredibly cruel manner – unlike the style of warfare the Acadians had been used to in the past. 28 homes and the church succumbed to flames, but the mills and upriver farms were spared, whatever “upriver” meant. Was the Dugas home burned? I would guess that it was, given that we know they lived near the fort and town.

Many Acadians hid in the forest. Françoise may well have been among them. Phips threatened them, and fearing slaughter, they came out of the woods and returned to their homes.

Following the devastation, the English required a loyalty oath to the English King. Phips ordered that his soldiers “burn, kill and destroy” anyone who refused to take and sign the oath.

Men signed out of self-preservation. Françoise’s father, Claude Dugas, and her future husband, René Forest, both signed. They had little choice if they wanted to keep their farms, livestock, and their lives – or whatever of that was left.

Françoise witnessed all of this as a young child.

Later Censuses

Changes from the 1686 to the 1693 census may well have resulted from the English burning so many homes in 1690 and the subsequent pirate attacks that resulted in more devastation.

In 1693, Françoise was 14 and is listed in the census with her parents and her elderly grandparents, Abraham Dugast and Marguerite Doucet, on 26 arpents of land – quite a bit more than in 1686. She now has 10 siblings. The family owns 4 guns but only owned one 7 years earlier and has 20 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 pigs. This is clearly a combined household. In the 1686 census, her grandparents had been living alone.

In 1697, the French once again took control of Acadia.

The next census in which Françoise appears is 1698, after she married René Forest. His age is listed as 28, and hers as 20, which, based on their children’s ages, means she married at about 17 in about 1695. Daughter Marie is 2, and Marguerite is 1. They are doing well, especially for a young couple, with 18 cattle, 22 sheep, and 2 hogs. Unlike before, the census lists 40 fruit trees, and her husband owns 2 guns.

Five years later, in 1701, Françoise, now 22, has two more children: Marie is 5, Marguerite is 4, Joseph is 3, and Francois is 1. They farm 6 arpents of land, have 1 gun, 23 cattle, 18 sheep, and 3 hogs.

Two years later, in 1703, they reportedly have 4 sons and 4 daughters with one arms-bearer, who is clearly René.

In 1707, they had 4 males under 14, 2 girls less than 12, 8 arpents of land, 14 cattle, 24 sheep, and 15 hogs. They also had one gun.

In 1714, the last census, which, unlike the others, was ordered by the English, they had 10 children, 5 boys and 5 girls. Very little information is contained in the census, probably due to what happened in 1711,

Acadia Falls

In our mind’s eye, we see a peaceful census taker visiting each farm, climbing out of his canoe, waving as he approaches the house, and chatting with his neighbors. That belies what was actually going on in Acadia during this entire time. Acadia was never peaceful.

For example, let’s look at what happened in 1711 that clearly affected all of the Acadians.

Françoise Dugas’s aunt, Madeleine Dugas (1664-1738) married Germain Bourgeois (1650-1711) about 1682 in Port Royal. By 1686, they were living in Beaubassin with the other Bourgeois family members, who had created a village there.

The men from this village, eventually called Bourgeois Village, visited Port Royal from time to time. Among other reasons, their family members lived there.

On September 24, 1710, the English once again attacked Port Royal with 5 warships and 3400 troops. The Acadians, with 300 soldiers, which consisted of all able-bodied men, stood absolutely no chance. A siege began. The English blockaded Port Royal. Battles ensued for the next month, but on October 12th, the beleaguered Acadians surrendered. The British allowed the soldiers, which would have assuredly included René Forest and the rest of the Acadian men, to surrender the fort and leave, with their flag flying,

One of the terms of surrender stated that inhabitants within cannon-shot, 3 English miles, could stay for 2 years. This meant they had two years to move their “moveable items” to a French territory, which at that time was any of the rest of Acadia, including the Minas Basin. 481 Acadians pledged allegiance to the Queen of England, and the French troops left Port Royal, now renamed by the English to Annapolis Royal.

It would always be Port Royal to the Acadians.

450 English soldiers remained, but they clearly didn’t want to be there. By June of 1711, only 100 were left – the rest having either deserted or died.

By Verne Equinox – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=10531352

On June 21st, a contingent of British soldiers was ambushed and killed at “Bloody Creek,” upriver about 15 miles, and ironically, where René Forest’s Village would later be drawn on a map.

Sixteen British were killed, 9 injured, and the rest captured, supposedly by the Mi’kmaq – although the Indians and Acadians were very closely allied.

About this same time, Acadians Guillaume Bourgeois, Jean Comeau, and Pierre LeBlanc of Annapolis, Germain Bourgeois of Beaubassin, and Francois Brassard of Chipody (who were passing through Annapolis) were arrested, reportedly for capturing a British soldier.

A descendant reports that Germain was held in the subterranean Black Hole at Fort Anne, originally a powder magazine, for several weeks. While his son, Guillaume, and the others were released, Germain died as a result. I can’t even begin to fathom that torture.

Writ large, we don’t know the outcome of this incident, but I decided to see if I could locate any corroborating evidence. As it turns out, the parish death records provide a clue.

Germain Bourgeois 1711 death

The priest, Father Durand, had been kidnapped and taken to Boston in January 1711, so deaths during his absence were not recorded on the day that they occurred. Nonetheless, we find that the priest later entered a burial record for Germain Bourgeois and the others who had perished during this time. “Died 1711, died during Durand’s captivity at Boston.”

A Bourgeois book by Paul-Pierre Bourgeois, page 72, states that Germain “d 1711, Port Royal, en prison comme hôtage du serment d’àllégence (61a)”. This translates into something like “he died in prison as a hostage for the oath of allegiance.”

To add insult to injury, without a priest, there was no one to perform the traditional Catholic Mass for Germain. The family would have made do, somehow, and buried him in the cemetery near his parents, who had died just a few years earlier – if they were able to have a funeral at all.

Françoise would have attended whatever service they had, standing by her mother and aunt who had children ranging in age from 28 to the baby, who was just three.

He died for being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and Acadian. There was no evidence he had been involved in the capture of the soldier.

Organizing the Census Data

The only avenue we have to discern birth dates of individuals born before parish records began is to correlate their ages across multiple census years. That’s also how we determine how many children were born to a family.

Françoise is with her parents in 1686 and 1693, but married before the 1698 census.

Family Member Birth Year 1686 1693 1698 1701 1703 1707 1714
Françoise Dugas 1679 6 – born 1680 14 – born 1679 20 – born 1678 22 – born 1679 4F & 4M 4M<14, 2F<12 5F & 5M

 

Rene Forest 1670 28 31
Marie Forest 1696 2 born 1696 5 F1 F1 F1
Marguerite Forest 1697 1 born 1697 4 F2 F2 F2
Joseph Forest 1698 3 born 1698 M1 M1 M1
Francois Forest 1700 1 born 1700 M2 M2 M2
Unknown male Forest 1701 M3 gone
Unknown male Forest 1701/2 M4 gone
Unknown female Forest 1702/3 F3 gone
Unknown female Forest 1702/3 F4 gone gone
Mathieu Rene Forest Jan 1704 M3 M3
Jacques Forest June 1707 M4 M4
Marie Madeleine Forest June 1709 F3
Elisabeth Forest 1710 F4
Unknown male Forest 1711/2 M5
Catherine Josephe Forest May 1713 F5
Anne Forest May 1715
Pierre Forest July 1717
Jean Pierre Forest July 1719
Space for child Forest 1721
Charles Forest Oct 1723

The number of children listed in the census, especially in 1703 is confusing. If they had four named children with ages listed in 1701, two males and two females –  how did they have 8 children, four of each, two years later?

Four years later, in 1707, they had six children, but we know that children died often.

I suspect 1703 is simply wrong, or someone else’s children were counted as theirs that day. Unfortunately, 1703 doesn’t include the children’s names and ages.

As best we can tell, Françoise had at least 15 children, probably 18 and possibly 20. We only know the names of 13. We know for sure that four died as children, and another four may have died as adults before Françoise.

After their marriage, René and Françoise have the following resources listed in the census.

Item 1698 1701 1707
Arpents of land 16 6 8
Fruit Trees 40
Cattle 18 12 14
Sheep 22 18 24
Hogs 2 3 15
Guns 2 1 1

It’s interesting that in 1698, they have 16 arpents of land under cultivation and 40 fruit trees. Almost every family has fruit trees listed. Champlain’s men brought apple seeds with them in 1605, and by 1633, trees were planted in the Annapolis Valley.

In 1701, less land is listed, and no fruit trees – but neither are fruit trees listed for any other family. Maybe that accounts for the difference in the amount of land under cultivation, too. No fruit trees are listed in 1707 either, so 1698 provides us with a special glimpse of life in Acadia.

Françoise’s Children?

Like most women of that era, Françoise spent most of her adult life caring for her husband and children. Life, especially life with children, required a partnership between two people. One worked the fields and took care of things, literally, outside the house, and the other bore and nursed the children, made clothes, cooked, and kept the household in order. Families were large, in part due to the lack of modern birth control and the tenets of the Catholic church, combined with the need for children to become “hands” to help their parents.

Children raised in a farm culture looked forward to being old enough to help in some capacity. Being permitted to do different chores were rites of passage.

Marie de Forest was born about 1696, died Feb 1, 1770, in Montreal, Quebec, married Joseph Robichaud (Robichaux) (c 1794-1768) on Feb 7, 1718, in Port Royal, and had 9 children.

Marie Forest Robichaux marriage

Marguerite Forest was born about 1697 (per the 1698 census) and died May 27, 1747 in Port Royal, about 47 years old (per her death record). Witnesses were Claude Bourgeois and Francois Forest, her brother, and she was buried the following day.

She married on January 19, 1724 to Pierre Bastarache (1702-1751) and had 6 children. The last child was born in 1738 when she would have been 41 years old.

One of her sons, Michel Bastarche, was deported to SC with his brother, but they returned to Acadia quickly by 1756. He died there at age 89. Apparently, his two sisters remained in Acadia.

Joseph Forest was born about 1698, died January 10, 1732 in Port Royal, aged about 32, married Marie Jeanne Guillebaud (1701-1763) on November 25, 1720 and had 4 children. His wife remarried in 1737 to Francois Girouard and had two additional children. She was buried on November 27, 1763 in Cherbourg, Manche, Normandy.

Joseph Forest Guilbaud 1720 marriage

On July 6, 1723, Marie Joseph Forest was born to Joseph Forest and Marie Guilbaud with godparents Charles Guilbaud, father of Marie Guilbaud, and her grandmother, Françoise Dugas, mother of Joseph Forest.

Francois de Forest was born about 1701, died October 22, 1777 and was buried two days later at L’Assomption, Quebec, Canada, aged about 77. He married Jeanne Girouard (1709-1767) on October 20, 1727, age 26, with witnesses Alexandre Girouard, Antoine Blanchard, René Forest and Pierre Le Blanc, son of the late Pierre Le Blanc. They had 9 children.

1701/1702 child or children unknown

Parish records in Port Royal begin in 1702. Four years between children tells us that a child was born about 1702 and died.

The first child whose birth is recorded in the church records is Mathieu.

Mathieu René Forest was born January 11, 1704, and was baptized on April 20th with godparents Mathieu de Goutin, lieutenant general of this province, and Renee Bertrant dit de Forest (who is this person?). Is the name Bertrant a clue to a different surname and is Forest entirely a dit name?

Forest Mathieu 1704 birth

Mathieu married on January 19, 1728, to Marie Madeleine Guilbeau (born 1712) with witnesses René Forest, Joseph Forest, brother of the groom, Jacques Forst, son of the said René Forest and brother of the groom, Charles Guilbaut, and Charles Guilbaut, the son, brother of the bride. They had two known children, born in 1728 and 1740. He appeared on the 1763 census of Connecticut.

Jacques Forest was born June 21, 1707 and baptized on July 19th in Port Royal with godparents Sieur de Teinville, lieutenant of a company and Jeanne Dugast, wife of La Forest.

He married on January 25, 1734, to Marie Josephe LePrince (born in 1715) with wintesses Claude Granger, Pierre Lanoue, Ambroise Beliveau, René Forest, Pierre Granger.

Jacques Forest and his family were deported to Connecticut in 1755 where he appears on the 1763 census.

Marie Madeleine (Magdelaine) Forest was born June 30, 1709, and was baptized on July 3rd with godparents Francois Dugast and Magdelaine Dugast, wife of Jean Hebert.  She married Pierre Guilbeau (1704-1758) on January 21, 1731, with witnesses Charles Guilbaut, son of Charles Guilbaut, brother of the groom, Alexandre Guilbaut, son of Charles Guilbaut, brother of the groom, René Forest and Jacques Forest, his son.

Forest Marie Madeleine Guilbaut 1731 marriage

She died on March 27, 1758, the day after Easter, in Quebec, age 48, and was buried the next day in Bellechassse. Her husband and three children died in the same week. Her son, Jean-Baptiste, age 16, died the same day as his mother. Her husband died 9 days later, on April 5, 1758. Joseph died three days before his father, on April 2nd, about age 7, and Ursule, 14 years old, died the day after her father, on April 6th. What an incredibly grief-filled week. I wonder what took the family and if neighbors were dying, too. I can’t imagine being the two barely adult children left and having to deal with the magnitude of this loss. 

Elisabeth (sometimes Isabel) Forest was born about 1710 and died on September 12, 1767 in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec. She married under the name of Isabelle to Honore LePrince (1717 – c 1756), son of Jean Le Prince and Jeanne Blanchard on November 24, 1738, in Port Royal with witnesses René Forest, father of the bridge, Jean Le Prince, father of the groom, Pierre Forest, Paul Blanchard, Joseph Le Prince.

Forest Isabelle LePrince 1738 marriage

They had two known children. Their daughter, Marie Jeanne Victoire, married Francois Cornier in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec, on January 7, 1760, so they were there by then. Another daughter married another Cormier male in the same place in 1771.

Catherine Josephe Forest was born on May 17, 1713 in Port Royal and was baptized the same day with godparents Claude Girouard and Isabelle Broussard.

She married Claude Gaudet (1713-1786) on August 18, 1737 with witnesses René Forest, father of the bride, Bernard Godet, father of the groom, Pierre Forest, Paul Blanchard, Isabelle Forest and Madelene Tibaudot.

Forest Catherine Josephe Godet 1737 marriage

They had 8 known children. Some may have been born after the deportation. This family is on the list of Refugees at Camp L’Esperance in 1756 and 1757. They are at Fort Edward in 1761/1762 with three in their household and settled at St-Jacques-de-Cabahannocer, Louisiana.

Karen Theriot Reader reports that Catharine Josephe died in Louisiana, and her name is recorded on the Acadian memorial Wall of Names where she is listed along with Claude and one child as early Acadian immigrants to Louisiana. Two of their children are known to have died in Louisiana, but the balance are unknown. She does not appear on the January 1, 1777 census at St. James, LA, but Claude died there before May 2, 1786.

Anne Forest was born May 3, 1715, and was baptized the following day with godparents Claude Brossard and Marie Forest.

She married on January 25, 1740, to Joseph LePrince (1719-1781) in Port Royal, son of Jean LePrince and Jeanne Blanchard, with witnesses René Forest, Jean Le Prince, and Simon Le Blanc. He died on May 24, 1781, in Becancour, Nicolet, Quebec, aged 62.

Forest Anne LePrince 1740 marriage

This family escaped the deportation by fleeing to Miramichi in New Brunswick. Her husband and children are noted on the passenger list in Quebec in July 1757, but Anne is not. Anne had died by the time her daughter, Marie-Joseph, born in October 1753 in Port Royal, died in Quebec on January 5, 1758, and probably died during their time in Miramichi.

Pierre Forest was born July 10, 1717 and was baptized provisionally by Claude Teriot. On August 1st he was baptized by the priest in Port Royal with godparents Guillaume Blanchard and Jeanne Richard.

Forest Pierre 1717 baptism

He married on June 30, 1744 to Marie Madeleine Richard (1718-1761) in Port Royal with witnesses René Forest, Prudent Robichaux, Etienne Robicheaux, Simon Richard, and Joseph Richard.

According to the Belle-Ile-en-Mer depositions, he died in 1750 inthe Memramcouk village of Beaubassin.

Jean Pierre de Forest was born July 22, 1719, and was baptized the next day in Port Royal with godparents Francois de Forest and Agnes Godet.

Forest Jean Pierre 1719 baptism

On November 11, 1743, he married Anne Richard (born in 1720) with witnesses René Forest, Bruno Robicheaux, Simon Richard and Joseph Richard.. He was listed in 1763 in the Connecticut census.

Space for 1721 child – unknown

Charles Forest was born On October 23, 1723 and baptized the next day in Port Royal.

Forest Charles 1723 birth

He married on May 10, 1745 to Marie Chaisson in Beaubassin, Acadia, but was then married about 1746 to Marie Josephe Poirier, with whom he had 5 known children. In 1763, he was listed on the Fort Beauséjour census. In 1792, he married again to Marie Josephe Girouard. Karen Reader shows his death in 1805 in Menoudie, Cape Breton, at age 82.

There is significant confusion surrounding two men by the same name – see here.

What Happened to Françoise’s Children?

We have some information about what happened to Françoise’s children by the time the deportation occurred.

The more we are able to learn about the destination of her children and where they eventually wound up, the more hints about where Françoise may have eventually been laid to rest.

Keep in mind that known children does not necessarily equate to all children, especially not for grandchildren born in remote locations in Acadia, or after deportation. Many were simply “lost.”

Child Spouse Death Known Children Deportation
Marie b 1696 Joseph Robichaud m 1718 1770 Pointe-aux-Trembles, Montreal, Quebec 9 Some of her children went to MA, some were prisoners at Halifax, NS, until 1763, and some settled in LA.
Marguerite b 1697 Pierre Bastarache m 1724 May 1747 Port Royal 9 Some children to New Brunswick, others to Clare and Pubnico, NS
Joseph b 1698 Marie Guilbeau m 1720 Jan 1732 Port Royal 4 Some children to Quebec
Francois b 1700 Jeanne Girouard m 1727 Oct 1777 L’Assomption, Province de Québec 9 Some children to MA, CT, Quebec, lower Canada near Montreal
Mathieu Rene b Jan 1704 Madeleine Guilbeau m 1728 Before 1777 Louisiana Unknown CT but left during the Rev War following loyalists back to Canada – this person uncertain
Jacques b June 1707 Marie Josephe Le Prince m 1734 Unknown 9 Deported to CT, one child to l’Acadie, Quebec, the rest still lost
Marie Madeleine b June 1709 Pierre Guilbeau m 1731 Mar 1758 in St-Charles, Bellechasse, Canada 8 Husband + 3 children died the same week she did. One child in New Brunswick and others in Quebec.
Elisabeth b 1710 Honoré Le Prince m 1738 Sept 1767 Bécancour, Québec 5 Some to Quebec and others to Lower Canada near Montreal
Catherine Josephe b 1713 Claude Gaudet m 1737 Louisiana after 1763 8 Escaped to Camp d’Esperance on the Miramichi, only one child survived, after 1763 went to Louisiana.
Anne b May 1715 Joseph (Le) Prince m 1740 Between Oct 1753 and Jan 1758, probably in Miramichi with 3 of her children 7 Escaped to Miramichi in New Brunswick, then to Quebec.
Pierre b Jul 1717 Marie Madeleine Richard m 1744 July 1750 Memramcouk, Beaubassin Unknown
Jean Pierre b Jul 1719 Anne Richard m 1743 After 1763, probably CT Unknown Deported to CT and listed on 1763 census.
Charles b Oct 1723 Marie Chaisson 1745, Marie Josephe Poirier 1746, Marie Josephe Girouard 1790 About 1805 Menoudie, Nova Scotia 6 or 7 Memramcock, then Restigouche, then Chedaik, Point Beausejour. In 1761 Gaspe Refugees. 1763 Fort Beausejouir. Menoudie later.

Françoise had at least 75 grandchildren and probably several more. Unless they were exiled in the same location that she was, she would never have known about any born after the summer of 1755. Furthermore, she would have grieved the absence of every one of these sweet souls. They were ripped away from her. Grandchildren are the light in the life of grandmothers, and hers were gone. She probably prayed every single day for them and that their separation would not be forever.

Many of the deported Acadians never accepted that they weren’t one day going back home

Two of Françoise Dugas’s grandchildren were documented in depositions on Belle-Ile-sur-Mer in France in 1766 and 1767 after deportation. Marie, the daughter of Pierre Richard and Marie Girouard, married Pierre Forest. Her sister, Anne. married Jean Forest.

Françoise’s family was literally tossed to the winds, with leaves falling across the globe. 

Godmother

After the 1714 census, information about Françoise is sparse but some information is found in the Catholic parish registers.

On what must have been an incredibly joyful day, Françoise Dugas stood as the godmother for her first grandchild, a boy, Prudent Robichaux (also spelled Robicheau and Robichaud), born to her eldest daughter, Marie, on Monday, December 19, 1718.

She was probably present for the child’s birth too.

The original parish records were recopied once, above, and they are much more legible than the original below. I always check both. Sometimes whoever made the copy can make out words in the original that I can’t.

Robichaux Prudent 1718 original

Françoise Dugas was mistakenly noted as the wife of René Robichaux instead of René Forest, but it’s clear who was meant. There is no René Robichaux or similar spelling in the St. Jean-Baptiste parish records between 1702 and 1755.

Forest, Marie Josephe 1723 baptism

On Tuesday, July 6, 1723, Françoise stood as the godmother for Marie Josephe Forest, her son Joseph’s first daughter, where she is noted as Joseph’s mother.

Fortunately, the Nova Scotia Archives records are indexed by the name of the primary individuals, meaning those who are being buried, baptized or married. Unfortunately, there’s no every-name index published, even though the individual record transcriptions do show that information.

If we were to check the baptismal records for Françoise’s grandchildren born in Port Royal, beginning with the ones born closest to the 1755 deportation date and working backward, we might discover more instances of her serving as Godmother.

1755 – The Final Battle

You might think that Françoise’s final battle was death, but in this case, it wasn’t.

The final battle was the horrific genocidal eviction of the Acadian people from their homelands in 1755. At least all of the Acadians that the English could find.

By 1755, Acadia reached throughout most of Nova Scotia, stretching entirely across the peninsula from Pubnico through Port Royal, past Halifax, northeast past Louisbourg, and back to the Les Mines basin, including Truro, Grand Pre, and Beaubassin.

The English were determined to take Acadia once again. Not just to oversee or rule the land but literally to “take” all of the land and property, evicting, removing, and essentially robbing the Acadian people of all of their belongings. Their intent was to settle English families who would, of course, be much easier to control.

If Acadian lives were lost in the process – so what.

Ships were sent to round up and forcibly deport the Acadians. No effort was made to keep families together, either on ships or relative to their final destinations.

Many were sent to the colonies, but the colonies weren’t prepared, and some rejected shiploads of destitute people.

For many families, the only connecting glue is if someone was baptized in Acadia and some two decades later, is once again found in the parish records elsewhere, say, Louisiana or Quebec, for example.

My ancestors either died or made it to Quebec, south of Montreal. Many families were simply never heard from again.

Several overloaded ships headed back to ports in Europe, and some sank en route.

Where was Françoise? Was she alive? Where did she go? Was she entirely separated from her family? Did she ever see any of them again?

Françoise’s Death

Françoise died sometime after October 12, 1723, when she stood as godmother. That much we know for sure. She was about 43 then and could certainly have lived many more years.

Françoise may still have been alive when René died and was buried in Port Royal on April 20, 1751. She would have been about 70.

His burial record in Port Royal indicates that two sons and a son-in-law were witnesses on his burial entry: Claude Godet, Mathieu Forest, and François Forest. That tells us that at least these three children were still living in Port Royal, although they would be separated during the deportation 4 years later.

Rene Forest 1751 burial

It doesn’t say he’s the widower of Françoise Dugas, although it does mention her, so she may have outlived him. If so, that means she also outlived at least four of her adult children, plus the ones who died young.

There’s no death record for Françoise before the deportation, Le Grand Dérangement, which probably means she was rounded up and deported at 75 or 76 years of age.

Let’s hope that she managed to get on a ship with at least one of her children.

How her heart must have ached for the children and grandchildren who would disappear into the mists of time, ghosts on other ships, screaming across the water until their voices could no longer be heard. Frantic outstretched arms.

Mémère!

Mémère!

Grandchildren she would only reunite with in the hereafter. She probably heard them in her nightmares, still screaming for her – unable to reach them.

The church where her entire spiritual life had been spent – joys and sorrows – elation as a bride, and tears as she buried those dear to her heart, including that groom more than half a century later. Now, simply disappearing as she could see it behind the fort and garrison, an ever-smaller dot and spire on the horizon, slipping away.

René’s grave – those of her parents, brothers, sisters, their children, her children, and, yes, grandchildren too. The grave where she was supposed to rest beside her beloved family members for eternity. She would never rest in peace now.

There would be no comfort. No peace ever again.

If Françoise lived to see this horrific day, she slowly sailed out of sight of everything she had ever known – into the yawning jaws of the inky abyss. I hope she didn’t realize…but in my heart, I know that that she did.

Goodbye, Port Royal.

_____________________________________________________________

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Martin Aucoin (1595-after 1633), Carpenter, Survived the Siege of La Rochelle – 52 Ancestors #425

Martin Aucoin lived in a time of great upheaval in France. Somehow, he survived a religious war, or more precisely stated, wars. He may or may not have made the trip from France to Acadia, today’s Nova Scotia. Whether he died in France, arrived in Acadia, or died trying, he was one of the founding fathers through his two daughters, Michelle and Jeanne Aucoin.

Laleu

Par Patrick Despoix — Travail personnel, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=32678016

Martin Aucoin was baptized on August 26, 1595, at Saint-Pierre de Laleu, a church that now lies in ruins.

Par Remi Jouan — Photo taken by Remi Jouan, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=8657028

The priest scribed the record of his baptism for posterity. We would find it more than 400 years later.

Martin Aucoin’s 1595 baptism is recorded in Latin, found in La Charente Maritime archives, here.

I don’t read Latin, and certainly not Latin written in 16th-century French script. ChatGPT 4.0 came to my rescue, though.

Transcription:

Die 26 aprilis Anno Domini 1595 Martinus Aucoin filius Martini Aucoin et Barbelleae parochiam Dieslis in Xra fuit sacro sancto baptizatus receptus ab aquae et spiritu sancto abbas mae Joannes Godardus capellaniae S. Johannis in hunc anima

Translation:

On the 26th day of April in the Year of Our Lord 1595 Martin Aucoin, son of Martin Aucoin and Barbelle of the parish of Dieslis in Christ was received into holy baptism by water and the Holy Spirit by Father Joannes Godardus, chaplain of St. John’s in this parish.

Others have interpreted his first name to have been Martinus, the Latin form of Martin, and the surname to have been written as Aucoing. His mother’s name has been interpreted as Suzanne Barboteau.

Unfortunately, the first remaining parish records from this church begin in 1593, although the church itself was much older. It was built in the 12th century, partially rebuilt in the 15th century, half ruined at the end of the 16th century, and restored in 1592 – hence the reason why there weren’t earlier records. The bell tower was restored in the 17th century.

Given the church’s ruined state before 1593, the Aucoin family would have attended services and had their religious needs attended to in another nearby community before this church’s restoration. This strongly suggests that Martin’s family lived in or very near Laleu.

Cousin Mark, who provided this information, also discovered that Lalau is shown on the siege map of La Rochelle from 1627-1628 in Guy Perron’s wonderful blog.

Laleu is shown on the map of the siege to the left. Today, Laleu is part of La Rochelle, although sadly, we were not able to visit the ruins during our recent trip.

The tower and some walls remain, along with the cemetery.

Today’s streets are probably just paved versions of the old cobblestone pathways for donkeys and carts that drew fruits and vegetables to market and supplies back home again when Martin’s family lived there.

Walking along the Rue Notre Dame, the “street” adjacent to the church appears to be an alley, but it’s not.

You can see the centuries of history carved into the mortar and stones of the old buildings, still in use today. Calling this a one lane street is being generous. Note the very small car in the distance.

Some of the little “streets’, like the Rue de Rambouillet, are only large enough for a person.

In even earlier history, before the 1100s, soldiers from the Gallo-Roman empire established ports on the peninsula where Laleu and La Rochelle are found and harvested salt from the salt marshes.

That history was probably forgotten by the time Martin’s parents took their infant child to be baptized, likely the day of or the day after his birth, as was the custom.

I can see Martin’s parents standing inside the church, facing the chancery, as baby Martin was anointed with Holy Water and baptized by the priest – the words of the ritual spoken in Latin, of course.

I wonder if his parents understood Latin. They had surely witnessed hundreds of baptisms.

The ghost of the pillars that would have supported the gabled archways soaring overhead.

The baptismal font was probably towards the front of the church, perhaps near the altar or maybe in one of the side chapels.

Beautiful stained glass windows would have graced the openings, radiating their colorful rays across the church and perhaps baby Martin as well, a blessing message from the sun.

Today, only one side of the church partially remains, along with the rear wall that appears to be stabilized by the bell tower.

Martin and his parents would probably have entered through the door, on the side near the bell tower today.

The small door at the rear of the church would have been where the caskets were carried out of the church for burial in the cemetery outside.

Looking at the left side and rear of the cemetery, we see small buildings that I thought were ossuaries, where the bones in old graves are removed and stored so the graves can be reused. While the practice is foreign to those of us in the US, it’s the tradition in most of Europe, where land is very scarce. Upon further research, it appears that these are not ossuaries but apparently a type of mausoleum or grave house.

That doesn’t mean there wasn’t an ossuary, just that I don’t see one today. Of course, the burials remaining today are contemporary, some reaching back into the 1800s but more from a later date – certainly long after the church was restored the last time. Martin’s parents may repose here, but if so, we don’t know where. Clearly, the early graves are gone, given that this cemetery has been in use for at least 800 years, since the 1200s.

Generations of Martin’s family members may have watered this soil with their DNA and would have lived within a block or so of the church.

The Neighborhood

Directly across the street from the church at 4 Rue de L’Eglise, this ancient building and its walls remain. It appears to be from the time when the church stood, and I can’t help but wonder what it was? Did Martin walk past here? He surely did.

Everyone did because it was across from the church. In a small village, everyone walked past everyone’s house and knew their business, too. Most of the people were probably related.

What was this building? Could Martin’s family have possibly lived here?

It’s labeled as Foucaud Dominique on the map, and further investigation suggests it is or was an osteopath’s office.

The ancient walls surround and are incorporated into the homes and lives of the Laleu residents today, some of which might be descendants of Martin Aucoin and Suzanne Barboteau.

Possible Siblings

French Acadian researcher Jacques Nerrou recorded the following:

The Aucoin family was in La Rochelle in 1570 at the time that Martin (1) AUCOIN was born. He was a locksmith by profession in Cougne parish. He then went to St. Eloy.

During this time period, there seems to have been only one AUCOIN family living in La Rochelle. He married Suzanne BARBOTEAU in 1592. Records found give us the various spellings of this family name: Aucoing, Ancoing, Auconnois, Oguin, Angevin, this last derivation could come from a more ancient form of the name that would have originated in the Angers region.

Birth records were found for four children belonging to this couple:

    • Sebastien, baptized 27/09/1593 at St Pierre Laleu (La Rochelle) as his father, he became a locksmith.
    • Martin (2), baptized 26/04/1595 at St Pierre Laleu (La Rochelle)
    • Francois, Baptized 9/11/1599 at Cougnes
    • Daniel, baptized 17/06/1604 at Cougnes.

Another marriage is reported for Martin Aucoin, the father, to Catherine Hilarin on July 10, 1606 in La Rochelle. If this is accurate, and it’s the same Martin Aucoin, that tells us that Suzanne Barboteau has died

Please note that I have NOT confirmed or verified any of the above information. I have not been able to use the French archives search feature for parish records successfully.

It’s also worth mentioning that there have been heated discussions about the surname and whether Angevin or Langevin is the same as Aucoin or if they are two unrelated families.

If baptism records are available for Aucoin family members, by any spelling, as indicated above, perhaps death records are too. It’s also possible that the witnesses for the various baptisms above can be associated with the records known to belong to our Martin Aucoin found in La Rochelle. That would serve as indirect evidence connecting the dots between these people.

If you have these records, additional information, or can figure out how to use the archives search features, please contact me.

Martin’s Life

Assuming that Martin Aucoin and Suzanne Barboteau are our Martin Aucoin’s parents, we know little more and nothing concrete. The first positive ID of our Martin is in La Rochelle in 1630, just a couple of years after the siege ended.

We can’t say positively that the Martin Aucoin baptized in Laleu in 1595, just 103 years after Columbus “discovered” America, is the same Martin Aucoin that was later found in La Rochelle, but Aucoin is an extremely rare surname, and Martin is not a common first name either. It’s certainly possible that if, indeed, Sebastian, Francois, and Daniel are the brothers of our Martin Aucoin, they named one of their sons Martin after their brother. It’s somewhat unusual that of the 19 children, 10 of whom were males, born to the younger Martin Aucoin found later in Acadia, born about 1650, none were given any of those three names.

About the time our Martin was reaching adulthood, a religious war would shape this part of France, and in particular, La Rochelle, dramatically.

The Edict of Nantes, signed in 1598 by King Kenry IV, granted the minority Protestants called Huguenots rights within the Catholic nation of France. Meant to quell the Wars of Religion in France; two decades later, the results were disappointing for France as a whole and catastrophic for some, especially in La Rochelle.

Catholics and Protestants

This map of La Rochelle was drawn in 1597 when our Martin Aucoin was just a toddler, in a more innocent time before the religious wars would take their toll during the following three decades.

It’s easy to see the city’s walls, the hospital, St. Bartellemy church, and possibly a small adjacent churchyard that equates to a cemetery, but I can’t tell for sure. There are at least four more churches scattered in different parishes, two of which can easily be identified here. At that time, the churches were shared between Catholics and Protestants, which was probably the only thing that saved them.

Several towers are in evidence, including the ones guarding the city gates. The main gate, by the harbor, still stands today.

The three massive towers guarding the harbor and quay, including the one with a terrifying gibbet cage, protected La Rochelle from attack from the sea and provided shelter for merchant ships offloading their wares in the portion of the harbor inside the city walls.

Coming or going, every ship sailed between those sentry towers.

La Rochelle, strategically located, became the Huguenot center of sea power and a hotbed of Protestant resistance to the Catholic government.

Henry IV of France, baptized Catholic but raised Protestant, balanced the interests of both but was assassinated in 1610 by a Catholic zealot. His son, Louis XIII, was only nine years old when his father died, and his mother, Marie de’ Medici, was named as the regent of France during her son’s minority, with the assistance of the powerful Catholic Cardinal Richelieu who would eventually betray her, as would her son. Marie was removed and exiled in 1617 by her son, who was only 16, causing revolts by regional nobles of both faiths, followed by the outbreak of the Thirty Years War in 1618.

In 1621, Louis XIII reestablished Catholicism in a formerly Huguenot region of Béarn, about 270 miles further south, resulting in an uprising and the escalation of tensions in La Rochelle.

The Huguenots were powerful and in control of La Rochelle, which, of course, was a part of France ruled by the French monarchy. While King Henry IV had been flexible and accommodating, his son, Louis XIII, was much less tolerant. The King had flexed his muscle, and La Rochelle certainly knew they might be next in his sights.

They were right. The blockade of La Rochelle took place in 1621 and 1622 during the King’s repression of the Huguenot rebellion.

Fort Louis was built just outside the La Rochelle city walls, guarding the entrance to the city. The King attempted to blockade La Rochelle by preventing Protestant access to the port by land and sea. As a Catholic carpenter, did Martin Aucoin help build this fort?

Isaac de Razilly with Charles de Menou d’Aulnay, men later associated with the founding and settling of Acadia beginning in 1632, commanded the French blockade fleet. Razilly lost an eye in that endeavor. They worked closely with Cardinal Richelieu.

This initial conflict lengthened into a stalemate, which resulted in the Treaty of Montpelier in October of 1622, ending hostilities, at least for the time being.

The Huguenots retained military installations in only two places, La Rochelle being one.

Neither side was happy with the terms of the agreement; both sides ignored it, and the tension reached a boiling point again by 1625 when the Huguenots occupied, and the French then recaptured Ré Island, off the Atlantic coast opposite the entrance to La Rochelle, illustrated above.

Martin would have witnessed all of this upheaval, knowing worse was coming, probably praying daily for the protection of his young family. He had been married about a decade.

In this painting, you can see the harbor and towers of La Rochelle, with Ré Island across the channel.

Perceiving an opportunity, in June of 1627, the English King Charles I sent a fleet of ships with more than 7,000 men to encourage a Huguenot rebellion at La Rochelle. In August, the English soldiers with 600 horses and 24 cannons surrounded the city. On September 10th, La Rochelle fired shots against the French King’s royal troops at Fort Louis, beginning the next Huguenot rebellion.

La Rochelle was the center of Huguenot resistance, aided by the English. Both sides were determined to be victorious.

For the French, Cardinal Richelieu acted as commander when the King was absent.

Cardinal Richelieu is depicted here at the siege of La Rochelle in both armor and his red cardinal cape and hat, standing on a dike.

La Rochelle can be seen here in 1630, completely surrounded by fortifications and troops. The French built a seawall nearly a mile long to prevent all supplies from arriving in La Rochelle

La Rochelle is shown here ringed by forts, with its harbor blocked by a nearly mile-wide blockade. On the peninsula at right, you can see the small village of LaLeu, outside the blockade perimeter. Based on the area left outside the perimeter, one can assume there wasn’t concern about French or Catholic loyalty in those regions.

Laleu looks small on this map.

Laleu looks much more realistic on this map and you can make out the church’s spires. Still, there are only about 43 houses, plus the church, of course. The church was the center of every village and the life of the villagers.

This bird’s-eye view drawn by Jacques Callot shows the area of La Pallice, near the bottom, and Laleu, a small village above LaPallice, during the siege.

I think this would have been Laleu on the Callot map, but I’m not positive.

The English sent two more fleets to resupply the Huguenots and relieve the residents of La Rochelle but were unsuccessful.

After 14 excruciating months, on October 28, 1628, the Huguenots surrendered the city to the French.

Along with other Huguenots, Jean Guitton, the Protestant mayor of La Rochelle, had vowed to defend La Rochelle to the death. Indeed, they did, but the resulting deaths weren’t their own. Instead, the residents died. Shockingly, the population was reduced from 27,000 to 5,000, but in the surrender painting above, the politicians in charge don’t appear emaciated.

After an unconditional surrender, confessing their sins, and asking the King for forgiveness, they were allowed to return to the fold. At 11 PM, the treaty was signed, and the following day, the emissaries from La Rochelle were brought before the King, who said to them, “I forgive you for your rebellions. If you are good and faithful subjects to me, I will be a good prince to you.” The Huguenots of La Rochelle retained their religious freedom, property, and possessions but not their military defenses.

Two days later, the royal troops entered the city and witnessed an utterly horrific spectacle. Only 5000 residents were left alive, and another 1000 would die within the next three months.

The soldiers handed out 10,000 loaves of bread immediately. The next day, they herded cattle and sheep into the city. More than 3000 carts of supplies were escorted by the soldiers, too, but those carts had a secondary purpose. The priest recorded that “so many corpses piled up without burial in the city.” Those corpses were removed from the streets before the King’s arrival on November 1st. They wanted to spare him the painful spectacle of the devastation the blockade had caused. The King was so moved by seeing “the poor inhabitants,” and that was AFTER the cleanup, that he took pity on them and shed tears. Yes, starvation is horrific. The King was staying at Laleu, which was clearly in much better shape than La Rochelle. Still, it must have been terrible in Laleu, too, knowing that people just a few miles away were literally slowly, agonizingly, starving to death.

Unfortunately, the Catholic church records in La Rochelle end in mid-July 1627 with a final entry in the registers of Sainte-Marguerite church. More than 20,000 deaths later, the next known service was held by Cardinal Richelieu on November 1st, in the same church where “all divine services” took place for “all the churches of La Rochelle.” Records indicate that there had been five churches and cemeteries, one for each of the parishes. Sainte-Marguerite was reconsecrated by Cardinal Richelieu, and six days later, burial records were resumed.

It’s unknown how the bodies were disposed of during the siege or before the King’s visit.

Where Was Martin Aucoin During This Time?

We don’t know where Martin was during this time, but we do know a few things.

The fact that the King stayed in Laleu indicates that the town was considered Catholic, loyal, and safe. It would have been in pretty good shape, all things considered.

Martin could have been there.

The church in Laleu was about two and a half miles or an hour away, on foot, from the center of La Rochelle. Of course, the King wouldn’t have been walking. He would either have been riding a horse or in a horse-drawn chariot, accompanied by both an entourage and many soldiers. Martin was probably watching from someplace and may even have been involved in some fashion.

Martin survived the siege, as did his wife, Barbe Minguett, and eldest daughter, Michelle, who, according to the later Acadian census documents, was born about 1618. Michelle’s age suggests that Martin married sometime between 1615, when he would have been 20, and 1617. In addition to daughter, Michelle, Barbe and Martin had son, Francois, who was born about 1622. They probably had more children as well, given the distance between known children.

We know with almost certainty that Barbe Minguet was the mother to both Michelle Aucoin and Jeanne Aucoin who were founders of Acadia, along with their respective husbands. The mitochondrial DNA of their descendants, inherited directly from their mothers all the way back to Barbe, matches.

If Martin Aucoin and his wife and at least two children were living in La Rochelle at the time of the siege, the chances of all four surviving would be nearly impossible. Only about 1 in 6 or 7 people survived. It’s most likely that Martin and his family were living in Laleu or nearby, someplace outside the walls of La Rochelle, during this time.

Furthermore, as a loyal catholic and carpenter, there would have been opportunity in La Rochelle after the siege was over.

The first child born in La Rochelle to Martin and Barbe was daughter Jeanne Aucoin who was baptized in Sainte-Marguerite’s church on November 26, 1630.

The Grim Reaper and a Second Chance

Unfortunately, while Martin and his wife, Barbe Minguet, escaped the grim reaper during the siege months, Barbe succumbed sometime between November 26, 1630, and January 20, 1632, when Martin married Marie Sallé at Saint-Barthélemy church, just a couple of blocks away from Sainte-Marguerite, but in a different parish.

The church of Saint-Barthélemy no longer exists, but the bell tower does and is getting a makeover. The church proper was located where the building with the white shutters sits today.

We know that several people were present at their wedding. The bride’s parents would have come from the neighboring parish of Cougnes, bringing the bride, of course. I can’t help but wonder why they weren’t married in her home church. In addition, there were several witnesses, many of whom were carpenters and other tradesmen. Some may have been relatives.

Again, ChatGPT translate assisted with the transcription, but couldn’t read everything.

The 20th of January of Saints Fabien and Sebastien were married Martin Aucouin, Carpenter, in this parish with Marie Sallé daughter of Jean Denys Sallé and Francoyse Arnaud of the parish of Cougnes and of the consent and ?é in pr Jean and Nicolas Jaque neau ? Locksmith, Arnaud Gyon carpenter, Pierre Dusaut carpenterr, Jony Bichaud butcher Martin Barraud carpenter and Jony Brossard butcher and Antoine Couisau Masson & more’r others

Fousseaume.

Parish Priest of St. Barthelemy Nicolas Jagueneau Louis D’Loyer Pierre elder Arnaud Gion Johing Broussard Bastien Jagueneau

The signature of Arnaud Gyon, a carpenter, on the marriage certificate of Martin Aucoin with Marie Sallé is the same as that on the baptismal certificate of Jeanne Aucoin, daughter of Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguet in 1630. This confirms that it is the same Martin Aucoin in both documents, even if there is no mention of widowhood in his marriage certificate with Marie Sallé. Furthermore, we later find Marie Sallé in Acadia, living with Michelle Aucoin’s daughter and son-in-law.

Marie Sallé was born about 1610, so she would have been about 22 when she married Martin. Martin’s daughter, Michelle, was already 14, so Marie was just 8 years older than her stepdaughter, 12 years older than Francois, and about 21 years older than baby Jeanne. With the addition of her new son, Jean, a few months later, Marie bore the responsibility of raising four children.

We know they attended Saint-Barthélemy, so let’s take a look at the tower, the only part of the church left today.

Martin probably attended this church while he lived in this parish in La Rochelle after his daughter, Jeanne was born, but before he married Marie. Otherwise, they would probably have been married in Sainte-Marguerite had he lived in that parish.

The bells of Saint-Barthélemy would have summoned the worshipers.

Just ten days after Martin married Marie Sallé, a child, Nicholas Aucoin, was recorded in the burial records of Saint-Barthélemy. The child’s age is not given, and neither are his parents’ names, but given that we know Martin attended this church and no other Aucoin families are present, it makes sense that Nicholas belongs to Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguet. I can’t help but wonder if this child was born to Martin and Barbe just before her death. Given Jeanne’s birth in November of 1630, Nicholas could have been born literally days to a few weeks before Martin married Marie Sallé in January of 1632, although that really doesn’t seem quite long enough.

This must have been an incredible blow to Martin. Now, the church bells were tolling for his child.

I wonder where Nicholas was buried. Was he an infant, perhaps the last child born to Barbe before her death, or was he older?

Maps of that time don’t show a cemetery adjacent to this church. Besides, after almost 25,000 deaths in the previous few years, there would have been no space left in the cemeteries anyway.

The priest would have had to consecrate ground someplace else for burials.

Martin would probably have looked out these windows, wondering to God why. Why take his wife and children? Why?

Then, his attention drifted back to what the priest was saying, assuming he understood Latin. Regardless, Martin would have understood the rituals. Blessing the child and praising God for taking the child to His glory and happiness of everlasting life.

The priest probably said the Mass of Angels, begging for consolation for the family. He would have worn white robes, not black, because the child had never sinned, and blessed the coffin before it was taken outside for burial where he would bless it once again.

Martin and Marie’s first child, a son, Jean Aucoin, was baptized inside these walls ten months later, on November 10, 1632. It was a much happier day, and they must have been thrilled!

Sadly, he died seven months later, on June 25th, 1633. The priest would have repeated the same ritual that by this time would have been all-too-familiar. Grief seemed to be the staple diet of La Rochelle.

Martin attended the funeral of his son in this church, again staring out what would then have been stained glass windows as the Priest’s voice droned on. Martin had heard funeral services far too many times. He probably knew them by heart.

Did Martin and Marie have more children? Did they move someplace else, to a parish whose registers no longer exist? Maybe more baptisms are waiting to be found.

Marie was only in her early 20s, so she had another 20 childbearing years ahead of her.

Did Martin have siblings? What happened to them? Where are they?

Where were Martin’s parents buried? Were they trapped in La Rochelle and perished during the siege? What happened?

Are there more records for Aucoin family members in this part of France?

Daybreak

Very early, at daybreak, just as the sun rose one April morning in La Rochelle, I traced Martin’s footsteps. I walked to where his daughter, Jeanne Aucoin, was baptized, and then to Saint-Barthélemy, where Martin remarried after Jeanne’s mother died, where Nicholas was buried, then son Jean was baptized and then buried. All those events in this church occurred between January of 1632 and June of 1633.

The shadowy fragments of Martin’s joy and sorrow both linger here.

When I visited that solitary morning, the church was under repair. I walked as far around the church tower as possible, hoping to find a way inside.

No luck.

Around back, I looked inside the dumpster, which held trash and scrap construction materials.

I saw something in the dumpster.

I took a closer look.

There it was.

Stone.

Stone from the church tower where the trajectory of Martin’s life changed.

Tossed away in the refuse pile, just waiting for me.

Be still my heart.

A gift from his heart to my heart.

Yes, Martin, I am here. I came to find you and share your life, your pain, and joy, your path and footsteps with your other descendants.

You know, don’t you?

From my soul to yours.

Thank you.

It hurt my heart to turn and walk away. Tore at my soul.

I kept looking back, tears streaming down my cheeks, until I reached the corner. I paused one final time, took one last look, drinking in what Martin would have seen, etching it in my mind forever, then turned and walked downhill towards the city gate and the quay.

But Martin knew that I was here, and just as I did, he turned and walked away one last time, too.

Acadia

We don’t know for sure if Martin Aucoin set sail for Acadia or if he died before his family immigrated.

Given that we know Marie and three of Martin’s children sailed for Acadia, now Nova Scotia, the church would have been their last stop, offering prayers for safe passage before they sailed between the towers standing sentry, guarding the opening into the harbor.

They would have gathered a few meager belongings, boarded a ship along the quay, and set sail between those towers.

Martin’s family, and Martin, if he sailed with them, would have turned around until the towers and La Rochelle were only a dot on the horizon, then looked forward to nothing but waves and sea. An uncertain future.

The siege and its aftermath clearly played a critical role in the settlement of Acadia. I can picture the destruction and destitution in the city that prompted many to welcome a chance for a better life in New France.

In 1632, de Razilly and d’Aulnay began encouraging settlement at La Hève, Acadia, now LaHave, Nova Scotia. In 1635, the settlement was moved to Port Royal, on the northern side of the peninsula.

Did Martin sail with the rest of his family through those towers, out the harbor, into the westward sun, headed for Acadia?

Or does he rest someplace in La Rochelle, or maybe at sea?

The Other Martin Aucoin

There’s another Acadian named Martin Aucoin. What happened to our Martin Aucoin, born in 1595, may, in part, be told by the story of the younger Martin Aucoin.

The younger Martin Aucoin is recorded in the 1686 census of Les Mines, Acadia, living in Beaubassin, age 35, which means he was born about 1651. In the 1693 census, he’s shown as age 46, so born about 1650. Importantly, he is NOT shown in the earlier Acadian censuses.

This Martin married Marie Gaudet about 1673, given that their first of 19 children, including a set of twins, was born in 1674.

The younger Martin’s burial was recorded in the Grand-Pré register on May 15, 1711, noted as around the age of 60, born about 1650 or 1651, and living on La Riviere des Canards. Unfortunately, this entry does not reveal his parents.

According to the deposition made in 1767 by this Martin’s grandson, Alexandre Aucoin, Martin came from France. (Doc. inéd., Vol. III, p. 106). Five others, all made by widows or widowers of other grandchildren of Martin Aucoin, include statements to the same effect (ibid., Vol. II, pp. 181, 193; Vol. III, pp. 22, 29, 127-128). All six of these depositions indicate that Martin Aucoin married Marie Gaudet. Only one, that of Claude Pitre (ibid., Vol. III, p. 29), adds the detail that their marriage took place at Port-Royal.

What NONE of these depositions says is that Martin Aucoin (the elder) is the father of the younger Martin Aucoin or that Marie Sallé was his mother. However, neither do the depositions for either Jeanne or Michelle. In fact, the elder Martin Aucoin is not mentioned in any of those depositions at all. In 1767, the French were interested in the most recent ancestor arriving in Acadia who was born in France, not necessarily ALL ancestors born in France.

The descendants of both Michelle and Jeanne Aucoin stated that they were born in France and came to Acadia with their spouses. For Martin the younger, it simply says he came from France. If Martin the elder was his father and Marie Sallé, his mother, they and their other children would not have arrived until after the younger Martin’s birth in 1650/1651 and before 1654, assuming the information about him being born in France is accurate. That’s the only possible window because there was no immigration from France to Acadia during the English occupation from 1654 to 1670.

So, if this Martin was born in France and arrived before 1654, he would have arrived as a child with his parents. There is no suggestion of a second Aucoin family. If he arrived after 1670, he may or may not have arrived with family members. There is no record of any Martin Aucoin in the 1671 census. Beaubassin was not founded until 1671-1672, so he wasn’t there yet.

Martin’s wife, Marie Gaudet, lived in Port Royal with her parents, who were shown there in 1671, 1678, 1693, and 1698. Marie is shown with her parents in 1671, age 14.

Martin would have HAD to have been living in Port Royal in 1673 when he married Marie. The couple likely packed up and went with Jacques Bourgeois to Beaubassin shortly thereafter.

So, here are the four possibilities for the Martin Aucoin born about 1650, in no particular order:

  1. Martin came from France, probably as the son of Martin Aucoin and Marie Sallé, between 1650 and 1654, when immigration stopped. If this is the case, Marie would have been about 41 or 42 years old, so having a child when Martin was born is certainly within the realm of possibility.
  2. Martin came from France between 1650-1654, the child of other parents. This is possible, but there is no trace of those other parents, nor is he found in the 1671 census.
  3. Martin came from France after the 1671 census, and before 1673 when he married Marie Gaudet and is therefore not the son of the older Martin Aucoin. This makes the most sense, especially when combined with a note by Stephen A. White, “Given the lack of dispensation, we do not believe that the husband of Marie Gaudet could be the second son of [Martin Aucoin] the carpenter of La Rochelle, but there still exists the possibility that he is related to the sisters Michelle and Jeanne, to a degree more distant.” Unfortunately, White does not identify which marriages he would have expected to find dispensations for. Knowing which marriages and in which generations would help immensely in eliminating potential upstream common ancestors. For example, could the younger Martin Aucoin have been the nephew or great-nephew of the older Martin Aucoin? For how many generations would a dispensation be required in each scenario?
  4. The last possibility is that the depositions regarding the younger Martin coming from France are incorrect and he was born in Acadia, but his parents came from France. This is possible but adds no evidence either way in terms of whether he is the son of the older Martin Aucoin.

Surely, with the same highly unusual name as the older Martin Aucoin, there had to be some connection. Even today, there are only three locations in France with clusters of the Aucoin surname, and one is a result of Alexandre Aucoin’s descendants who were deported back to France, arriving on Belle-Ile-sur-Mer in 1765.

More Upheaval in La Rochelle

It’s easy to imagine La Rochelle as peaceful after the siege, but that wasn’t the case.

By World Imaging – Own work, photographed at Orbigny-Bernon Museum, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=11205885

In November 1661, 300 Protestant families were expelled from La Rochelle, probably some 3000 people. We have no reason to associate the Aucoin family with Protestant leanings, but witnessing the heartache and devastation might well encourage young Martin Aucoin to daydream about leaving for more peaceful lands – or at least land he believed to be more peaceful.

Perhaps this event motivated the younger Martin Aucoin, born about 1650, to leave as soon as he was old enough.

The Elder Martin Aucoin

We have two bracketing events defining the possible death of our Martin Aucoin.

We know Martin was alive when he was married in January 1632 and in February when his son was conceived. I’d also presume (I know, unsafe word) that he was alive later in 1632 when baby Jean Aucoin was born to Marie Sallé because otherwise, the father would have been noted as deceased in the baptismal record and in the subsequent death record for the baby in July of 1633.

It has been presumed (that word again) that Martin accompanied his wife, two daughters, and (possibly) one son to Acadia, although nothing more is ever heard about the son, and some researchers believe Francois was misidentified.

The elder Martin Aucoin’s daughter, Michelle, was born about 1618 in France and had her first child with Michael Boudrot about 1642. Michel Boudrot was already in Acadia by 1639, but he was associated with Charles d’Aulnay so it’s possible, given his position of responsibility as a Lieutenant, that he made trips back and forth to La Rochelle for or with d’Aulnay. Given Boudrot’s residence in Acadia, it’s probably most likely that the Martin Aucoin family immigrated about 1641 and Michelle married Boudrot shortly thereafter.

However, and this is a big however, it’s possible that Boudrot traveled back to La Rochelle where he met Michelle and her family. If Martin Aucoin was living, Boudrot could have encouraged the entire family to immigrate. Given what Martin had been through, it probably didn’t take much. If Martin had been thinking about Acadia anyway, the encouragement of a responsible Lieutenant who just happened to be courting his daughter might have been all that was needed.

If Martin had already passed away, Boudrot could have married Michelle and brought her, along with her stepmother and sister, Jeanne, back to Acadia with him. We do not know that the older Martin Aucoin set foot on Acadian soil, although I think it’s likely.

The elder Martin Aucoin’s daughter, Jeanne, was born in 1630 in La Rochelle and had her first child with Francois Girouard in 1648. We don’t know if she was married in Acadia or France, and we don’t really know for sure where her early children were born either. It’s most likely that she immigrated about 1641 with her parents and married Girouard in Acadia.

We know for sure that Martin Aucoin the elder was deceased by 1671 when Marie Sallé is listed in the census as the widow of Jean Claude and is living with the family of François Bourg, whose wife is the daughter of Michelle Aucoin and Michel Boudrot. In 1678, Marie is still living with the same family but is listed alone in 1686, age 86. If she actually was 86, she would have been born about 1600, meaning it’s very unlikely that she had a child in 1650 or 1651, effectively eliminating her as the mother of the younger Martin Aucoin. However, ages of the elderly tend to grow, and who would know exactly?

We have no further information about Jean Claude or when Marie married him, which would provide us with a hint as to when Martin died.

There is no record or suggestion of additional children born to Marie.

I was baffled for some time about why Marie Sallé’s marriage date to Jean Claude was quoted as “after 1651,” with no source given anyplace. I now realize that it’s because there was a presumption that the younger Martin Aucoin, born 1650/1651 was her son, and she remarried after the elder Martin Aucoin died.

Out on a Limb

I’m going out on a limb here.

We have no more information about Martin Aucoin, born in 1595, or his father, Martin Aucoin, assuming that the Martin baptized in 1595 is “our” Acadian Martin Aucoin, the father of both Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin, and husband of both Barbe Minguett and Marie Sallé. There appears to be unverified information about the mother of the Martin baptized in 1595 in Laleu. Following up on her name might, just might, produce additional information – although we are far back in time.

So would finding the records reported by researcher Jacques Nerrou.

Having said all of this, I have a really difficult time believing that the Martin Aucoin in La Rochelle just two years after the siege of La Rochelle ended was NOT the same man as the Martin Aucoin baptized in Laleu – in part simply because he and his wife and at least one child survived that horrific siege – so it’s unlikely they were actually living IN La Rochelle during that time.

Both Martin and Aucoin are unusual names, and when combined, especially when associated with each other, a family connection is very probable.

Given all of the information we do have, I really doubt that the younger Martin Aucoin, born about 1650 or 1651, is the son of Martin Aucoin and Marie Sallé, although he could be.

I think it’s more likely that the younger Martin Aucoin is the nephew or other paternal line relative of the older Martin Aucoin. Perhaps he had no family left in La Rochelle and followed his uncle to Acadia, some 20 or 30 years later.

If they are paternally related Aucoin men, that means that they would share the same Y-line DNA.

Fortunately, one of the descendants of Alexandre Aucoin, grandson of the younger Martin Aucoin, has taken a Y-DNA test. If Martin Aucoin the younger and Martin Aucoin the older share a direct paternal Aucoin male ancestor, the Y-DNA of Martin the younger represents the Y-DNA of Martin the elder. Of course, we will never be able to test direct paternal male descendants of Martin Aucoin the elder, because no sons survived.

Aucoin Y DNA

What does the Y-DNA of Alexandre Aucoin’s descendant tell us?

To begin with, I’m functioning with a handicap because the tester has only tested to the 37-marker level. Although he didn’t know a great deal about his genealogy, I was able to confirm his descent from the younger Martin Aucoin.

The good news is that he matches two other Aucoin men who have taken the Big Y-700 test and are haplogroup I-FTC21121. They also descend from Martin Aucoin born in about 1650. Ironically, they have both connected the dots in their trees from the younger to the elder Martin Aucoin, but there’s no source information. I understand why it seems logical, but given the evidence we have, it’s probably not accurate.

The great news is that they also match several other Aucoin men, but unfortunately, none appear to have descended from France other than through the younger Martin Aucoin.

However, there’s something else of interest.

One match is a man who descends from a French family that immigrated in the 1800s. His progenitor, with a different surname, say “XYZ,” was born in 1766 in Saint-Pierre, du Chemin, Vendée, Pays de la Loire, France.

This location is only about 49 miles from Laleu and LaRochelle where we first find the Aucoin family. Unfortunately, Mr. XYZ has not taken a Big Y test, so we don’t know how long ago they share a paternal ancestor.

The Discover Time Tree shows us that haplogroup I-FTC21121 was formed about 1588, which maps nicely to what we know about the younger Martin Aucoin.

The Aucoin and XYZ families are related, we just don’t know when or how far back in time, although it could be quite distant. Mr. XYZ only has six 12-marker matches and no others. His Y-DNA is clearly quite rare, not to mention that French men can’t test today. His lack of matches could be a function of rarity, lack of testers, or both.

I wonder if Mr. XYZ would agree to upgrade to the Big Y-700 test, because it would be as informative for him as for the younger Martin Aucoin family. We at least know we’re in the right part of France with his match to Martin Aucoin the younger. That test would tell us when their common ancestor lived.

Still, though, it doesn’t answer the question of whether our Martin Aucoin, born in 1595, and the younger Martin Aucoin, born about 1650, are descended from the same paternal line.

However, autosomal DNA might potentially be useful, assuming their common ancestor lived not too long before Martin’s birth. If Mr. XYZ also happens to autosomally match Acadians descended through Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin but NOT descended from Martin Aucoin the younger, that’s a HUGE hint that the two Martin Aucoins were related.

Could we be that lucky? How far out on this branch am I standing anyway???____________________________________________________________

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Jeanne Aucoin (1630-1718), Following Her Path in LaRochelle – 52 Ancestors #424

Her name is Jeanne, Jeanne Aucoin, pronounced Ah-QUON. I whisper her name because she is oh so near and dear to my heart.

You see, she is my seventh great-grandmother, and I’ve walked in her footsteps. Trod where she trod. Stood where she stood – and probably cried where she cried – in the old medieval city of La Rochelle.

Something about that changes you.

Her name and spirit flutter across my heart and then across the centuries. Connecting her to me through a timeless linkage.

Stephen White first reported that Jeanne was born in France based on the depositions of her great-grandson, Pierre Richard, and another by Louis Courtin, husband of her great-great-granddaughter, Marie-Josephe Martin, on the French island of Belle-Île-en-Mer, decades after her death.

Today, we know so much more.

Let’s reach back in time and attend Jeanne’s baptism.

Tuesday, November 26, 1630 in La Rochelle

Priests baptize babies every day of the week because babies arrive whenever they and God decide. No one waited until Sunday. Not all babies lived and the babies who perished during the terrible famine caused by the 1627-1628 Siege of La Rochelle were fresh in the minds of everyone.

So much death.

Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguet have been married just over a dozen years now. Somehow, they had survived the famine. They had brought other children into the world. Michelle, their firstborn, was 12 now, and Francois was 8. Of course, the child born between them and those born since had all perished. They had buried at least three babies since Francois’s birth, although this morning, as Martin prepared to rush to the church, all of that was a blur now.

He tried not to look at the cemetery in the churchyard where his children and countless others rest. There was no room or time to dig individual graves, so many were buried together. Four of every five people in LaRochelle died during the siege.

So much grief.

La Rochelle, once the second largest city in France had shrunk from about 27,000, active, busting residents to 5,000 during the terrible siege when the Huguenots held the city and King Louis XIII and Philippe de Champaigne, known as Cardinal Richelieu, were trying to recover the city for France, and God, of course. Finally, after 14 months of death and horrific famine, Cardinal Richelieu’s soldiers captured and liberated La Rochelle.

Martin remembered it well – all too well. He shuddered every time he thought of it. Finally, there would once again be food and water. It was nothing short of a miracle that they had survived.

Victoriously entering the city, Cardinal Richelieu, in his red vestments, held mass on the morning of November 1st in the Chapelle Saint-Marguerite, the church where Jeanne was about to be baptized just two years later.

This baby would be baptized as a Catholic and live. Yes, she had to live. There had already been far too much death. May God have Mercy on their souls.

Martin crossed himself before snugly swaddling his new daughter on this cold November morning.

Martin quietly slipped down the ancient steps with the carefully bundled baby, watchful not to fall where others had trod for centuries, wearing deep bowl-shaped grooves in the stones, and left the house at first light while Barbe rested. She was still so thin, frail, and exhausted from all those months with no food.

Martin headed out into the empty streets with his warmly wrapped bundle of joy. November is cold on the Atlantic coast and the wind bites, cutting through you like the icy blade of a knife. He’d stop briefly on the way to gather the two required witnesses if they were up, or maybe someone would be at the church.

Martin passed the city gate. Normally busy and bustling with commerce, only one person was up this early and Martin didn’t have time to talk today.

Walking up the street, Martin thought he heard someone call his name, but when he turned around, no one was there. The street was empty in both directions. Must have been his imagination, or, perhaps an ancestor or one of those who had died in the famine walking with him. His protectors. He could use all the protection he could get.

He crossed himself again, just in case.

Martin turned right and headed up the cobblestone street into town. He could hear distant sounds of people rising, a clank here and there, but no one was discernably moving yet.

He could see the sun beginning to rise in the distance.

Martin had to be watchful because, first thing in the morning, people dumped chamber pots out of the windows.

The cobblestones from the ships’ ballast paved the narrow passageways, creating a gutter of sorts in the center designed to drain the contents of chamber pots, rain, and everything else into the bay, just outside the city walls.

Perhaps he’d better walk beneath the palisades in the little piazza where it was safer. After all, he didn’t want to enter the church smelling like “that,” and then there was his newborn daughter to think of.

Martin noticed the spires of another church along the way, but he was headed to his home church.

He hoped that the priest would be awake and perhaps in the church already. This baby was a little small, but otherwise, she seemed to be fine. However, you just never know, and the quicker the baby is baptized, the better.

If the Priest wasn’t in the church saying his morning prayers, Martin would have to tap on the door of the rectory and hope that the priest wasn’t in someone’s home having breakfast or maybe giving last rites. Priests were called by frantic family members at all hours of the day and night.

A few blocks up the street, Martin looked up and to the left, where he saw the bell tower of Saint-Barthelemy of the Great Temple Church.

He had been in that church many times, but not today. The bell would ring soon though, on the hour, announcing morning.

The steps of the church and some of the houses protruded into the streets, so he had to take care not to trip on either the steps or uneven cobblestones. Of course, the horses and animals from the day before would have left their calling cards in the streets too. Lots of landmines to avoid.

Finally, Martin arrived at the church. The church in 1630 isn’t a church today. This simple church started out as a convent for Catholic Nuns in the 12th century, then became a Catholic church that was at one time shared with the Protestants, then a hospital and movie theater.

When Martin arrived that early Tuesday morning, the large, heavy front door wouldn’t have been unlocked yet.

Martin turned the corner and walked up the side street, alongside the church. Le College was across the street, although that’s just a memory today. The tall building in the rear didn’t exist then and in its place was the churchyard, meaning probably the cemetery, in 1630.

Martin hoped that one of the side doors would be open.

Ever since the conflict and resulting siege of the last decade, many of the church doors were barred from the inside for protection.

Surely, one of the doors would be open if the priest were already there. During services, especially when it was beastly hot, the doors would have been latched open.

Were these hooks here that morning, or were they added later? A carpenter, had Martin perhaps repaired these doors at one time? Maybe he replaced this door after the siege?

As the sun’s early rays played on the church’s walls, Martin approached the original doors at left. With one hand, he tugged at the heavy wood anchored with massive hinges to see if they were unlocked. Perhaps Martin was in luck.

Being shifted from arm to arm, the baby, only a few hours old and as yet unnamed, began to cry.

Martin heard someone moving inside the church, heard muted footsteps approach the door. “Qui est là?” Who is there, the Priest queried?

“C’est moi, Martin Aucoin, avec le nouveau-né bébé,“ Martin replied, relieved to find the Priest in the church. “It’s me, Martin Aucoin, with the newborn baby!”

The parishioners entered through the larger door and the clergy through the smaller one. The priest opened the door, saw Martin’s bundle, and was relieved to hear the muffled cry, much like the soft mewing of a kitten. Crying babies were always wonderful signs, blessings, in fact. The Father saw far too many babies that weren’t crying anymore. A few minutes, some Holy Water, and a few tears later, Jeanne was named and baptized.

Jeanne’s baptism was recorded by the Priest later that day, Tuesday, November 26, 1630, in the registers of the Chapelle Ste-Marguerite inside the walls of the old city of La Rochelle, France. Cousin Mark found the baptism document in the Archives Départmentales de la Charente-Maritime; MS 253-La Rochelle; Église Sainte-Marguerite baptisms, 1620-1639, p 68 of 267.

Jeanne’s parents are listed as Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett, and the witnesses were Arnoud Giou and Jeanne Riou. Jeanne was clearly named after her Godmother who would bear the responsibility of raising Jeanne and assuring her Catholic education, such as education was, should something happen to Jeanne’s parents. Was Jeanne a relative? Was Arnoud?

Today, the church where Jeanne was baptized is no longer a church but an event venue named the Salle de l’Oratoire, owned by the municipality.

You can still see the location of the alter near where Jeanne would have been baptized, here. Looking at this incredibly beautiful candle-filled church, I can feel Jeanne and her parent’s joy-filled presence here.

More Tragedy

Tragedy wasn’t over.

Something happened to Barbe Minguett.

She died sometime before January 20, 1632 when Martin Aucoin, Jeanne’s father, a carpenter or joiner, remarried to Marie Sallee in the Saint-Barthelemy of the Great Temple Church.

Yes, that church bell tower, #26 on the map below, that Martin passed by before dawn on the way to get Jeanne baptized just 14 months earlier.

Ten days after Martin married Marie Sallee, a child, Nicholas Aucoin, presumably another child of Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett who had already died, also passed away.

Barbe and Nicholas were probably buried in the churchyard surrounding what was then Ste. Marguerite, #16 on the map above, along with their earlier children who perished. We don’t know their names, but we do know that several children are “missing” between the children we do know about.

The church is in the lower left-hand corner of the red box, above. The tall building behind the church is shown, as are the buildings to the right. It looks like there’s an enclosed garden with a tree or two behind the house immediately beside the church. Today, you can still trace the lines where the cemetery would have been, which makes me wonder if those buildings on top of hallowed ground are haunted.

There is no adjacent cemetery to Saint Barthelemy, #26.

Marie Sallee, upon her marriage, found herself an immediate mother to at least three children, including the infant, Jeanne. Martin desperately needed a mother for his children.

Martin and Marie’s first child, son Jean Aucoin, was baptized in the Saint-Barthelemy Church on November 10, 1632, just 10 months after their marriage and two weeks and two days shy of Jeanne’s second birthday. Jean’s godparents were Jean Rondeau and Marie Roucon. Sadly, this baby’s death was recorded the following June 25th, 1633, only 7 months old.

This means that Jeanne’s mother, Barbe Minguett died when Jeanne was just a baby, probably before her first birthday and was buried in the cemetery beside the church – now built over.

Growing Up

Jeanne Aucoin was raised by her father and stepmother, Marie Sallee. She probably had additional siblings, but they apparently did not survive in any known records.

We know that Jeanne married Francois Girouard around 1647, but it’s not clear whether or not they married after arriving in Acadia, or in La Rochelle before they left. The same holds true for her sister, Michelle Aucoin, who married Michel Boudrot about 1640 or 1641, given that their first child was born about 1642. We do know that Michel was in Port Royal by 1639 when he was listed as a trustee there and witnessed the baptism of Governor D’Aulnay’s daughter, although nothing precluded him from traveling back to France on business or recruiting additional colonists and marrying Michelle in La Rochelle.

Regardless, one way or another, for reasons unknown, Martin Aucoin’s family decided that they would have a better life across the great Atlantic in Acadia. In preparation, they packed up or sold everything they owned, taking only what they could stow in their portion of the hold of a ship. They probably took only what was essential, including Martin’s carpenter’s tools. Maybe only Martin’s tools. A carpenter would have been very valuable in the fledgling colony.

The Aucoin family would have sailed between the medieval towers standing sentry at the entrance to the port of La Rochelle sometime around 1640, leaving La Rochelle for the New World.

They not only left France, they left their families, if anyone was left, forever.

What an incredibly bittersweet day that must have been. Both exciting and terrifying. Anticipation mixed with fear of the unknown – plus the known dangers of transatlantic travel

I wonder if Martin made one last trip to the cemetery to say a final farewell to Barbe and their children resting with her. Sadly, Jeanne would have had no memory of her mother, but her sister, Michelle, a decade older than Jeanne, would have. Perhaps Jeanne and Michelle went with their father to pay their respects and say one final goodbye to their mother.

Maree Sallee would have said goodbye to her son as well, making one last trip to the church for prayers for safe passage too.

The New World

Weeks later, when Jeanne Aucoin and her family arrived in Nova Scotia, it may have been on the same ship with her future husband, Francois Girouard. Or, maybe they were already married.

For all we know, Martin could have convinced his two daughters and their new husbands to embark together for the New World. Or maybe it was Michel Boudrot who convinced everyone that land and opportunity awaited in Acadia. Six weeks in the cramped shipboard quarters would be uncomfortable, but they expected that their new life would be well worth it.

Michel, supported by d’Aulnay would be telling incredible stories about the wide-open space and limitless opportunities in Acadia – to an audience still stinging from being cramped in a putrid city during that horrid siege. Yes indeed, land and grass and trees and safety seemed like a wonderful, perhaps even God-sent, opportunity. They could never have or achieve any of those things in France. They couldn’t even own a cow.

But maybe things weren’t quite as rosy as they first seemed.

Upon arrival, they found themselves in the midst of conflict between Frenchmen who wanted to control Acadia, and the English who wanted the same thing. Much like a family fight and, at the same time, a fight with the neighbor.

French families had begun arriving in 1632 and initially settled at La Hève on the southern coast of Acadia, now LaHave, Nova Scotia.

In 1635, d’Aulnay, the Governor, moved the settlement from La Hève to Port Royal, later called Annapolis Royal, as seen on this 1768 map, along with Pisiquid (Pigiguid here), at upper right, which plays a role in the life of Jeanne’s descendants.

In 1641, while d’Aulnay was in France, Charles La Tour, another Frenchman, challenged d’Aulnay’s authority, attempting to oust him. In 1645, d’Aulnay captured La Tour’s fort and hung his soldiers. La Tour’s wife died soon thereafter under somewhat mysterious circumstances, and La Tour took refuge in Quebec.

D’Aulnay was now firmly in control until 1650 when he died in a “boating accident.” His widow, Jeanne Motin, married his nemesis, LaTour, in 1653.

Martin Aucoin and his wife, Marie Salee, probably arrived with their children sometime around 1640 or 1641 in the midst of all of this hullabaloo. Having said that, they could have arrived anytime after 1633, when the last record of Martin Aucoin appears in France.

If you’re thinking that this was a lot of high-stakes drama, fitting of any soap opera, you’d be exactly right.

Unfortunately, none of the parish registers survived until 1702, so we don’t know what happened to whom or when, except through indirect records.

Jeanne’s father, Martin Aucoin, died sometime during this period, because Marie Sallee married Jean Claude after 1651. She was listed as age 61 in 1671, then as Claude’s widow in 1678, living with the daughter of Michelle Aucoin, and age 86 in 1686. Even though Marie remarried, she very clearly stayed close to the Aucoin girls. It appears that Marie and Martin had no surviving children.

Based on these records, we know that Marie was born sometime between 1600 and 1610, so would have been having children until around 1645-1655ish. She and Martin probably had several children who perished.

Based on later records, we know when at least some children were born to Jeanne Aucoin and her husband, François Girouard.

  • Son Jacques Girouard was born about 1648, married Marguerite Gautrot, and died in 1703 in Port Royal, Acadia.
  • Daughter Marie Girouard was born about 1650, married Jacques Blou, and died in 1713. They eventually lived near her brother, Germain Girouard, in Beaubassin.
  • Daughter Marie Madeleine Girouard was born about 1654, married Thomas Cornier, and died after 1714. They lived in Beaubassin.
  • Germain Girouard was born about 1656, married Marie Bourgeois in Beaubassin, and died before 1694 in Acadia.
  • Anne Charlotte Girouard was born about 1660 in Port Royal, married Julien Lord, and died in 1742 in Port Royal, Acadia.

By 1686, three of Jeanne’s children, Germain, Marie, and Madelaine, had settled in Beaubassin.

Sadly, Jeanne outlived all but one of her children, Anne Charlotte.

Jeanne had at least 43 known grandchildren and probably more.

The English

A decade or so after the Aucoin family arrived in Acadia, war erupted between the French and English.

By 1653, there were 45-50 households at Port Royal and La Have, combined, where there were estimated to be 300-350 people, including 60 single men. If the Aucoin sisters had arrived single, they had their choice of several beaus.

In 1654, war broke out between France and England, and the English from New England attacked Acadia, seizing La Tour’s fort on the south shore and then Port Royal on the north. Farms were burned, and property was seized. Eventually, the Acadians were allowed to return home, but many didn’t have homes to return to. We have no idea if Jeanne Aucoin and François Girouard’s home was spared, although based on later census records of blended families, it looks doubtful.

There is no record of Martin Aucoin in Acadia. It’s possible that he died as a result of this attack or perhaps near this time.

The English occupied Acadia from 1654 to 1670, during which time no additional French families arrived, and the French already there were forbidden from returning to France.

In 1654, Nicholas Denys, a prisoner at Port Royal, described life in Port Royal and estimated that there were about 270 residents.

“There are numbers of meadows on both shores, and two islands which possess meadows, and which are 3 or 4 leagues from the fort in ascending. There is a great extent of meadows which the sea used to cover, and which the Sieur d’Aulnay had drained. It bears now fine and good wheat, and since the English have been masters of the country, the residents who were lodged near the fort have for the most part abandoned there houses and have gone to settle on the upper part of the river. They have made their clearings below and above this great meadow, which belongs at present to Madame de La Tour. There they have again drained other lands which bear wheat in much greater abundance than those which they cultivated round the fort, good though those were. All the inhabitants there are the ones whome Monsieur le Commandeur de Razilly had brought from France to La Have; since that time they have multiplied much at Port Royal, where they have a great number of cattle and swine.”

The French Governors before the English occupation were:

  • Isaac de Razilly 1632-1635
  • Charles de Menou d’Aulnay 1635-1650
  • Charles de Saint-Etienne de la Tour 1653-1654

France regained control of Acadia in 1670, taking a census in 1671 where 392 people were recorded, although it’s believed to have been undercounted.

In the 1671 census, François Girouard, a farmer, age 50, is shown with wife Jeanne Aucoin, 40. They had three married children, Jacob, 23, Marie, 20 and Marie Magdeleine 17. Unmarried children include Germain, 14, and Anne, 12. They lived on 8 arpents of land with 16 cattle and 6 sheep.

Jeanne’s age of 40 puts her birth at approximately 1631, which meshes with her 1630 baptism in La Rochelle. Jacob’s age of 23 suggests his birth when Jeanne was about 17, or in about 1648.

The 1678 census shows François Girouer and Jeanne Aucoin, no ages given, with 15 “acres” and 18 cattle, according to Lucie LeBlanc Consentino. Additionally, Germain, age 22, is shown in the household. By 1680, Germain was in Beaubassin where he married Marie Bourgeois. Jeanne may never have seen her son again, nor the resulting grandchildren.

The 1686 census at Port Royal (and nearby) shows Françoise Girouard, now age 70, along with Jeanne, 55. None of their children remain in the home, but they have 1 gun, 13 cattle, 16 sheep, and 8 hogs on 5 arpents of land. Daughter Charlotte was living next door with her husband Julien Lord and their children, but had no livestock or land, which suggests that the families are living on the same land.

Hell Arrived in 1690

I wonder if Jeanne ever thought back to La Rochelle and questioned her family’s wisdom in leaving. If so, 1690 might well have been that time.

In May of 1690, Acadia was again savagely attacked, plundered, and burned by the English out of Boston. This would have been the second time Jeanne witnessed this – the first time 36 years earlier, in 1654.

After the initial attack, organized pillaging began. For the next 12 days, the English militiamen ransacked houses and gardens, seized the wheat and clothes of the Acadians, killed their cattle, sacked the church, and demolished, then burned the stockade.

Undefended Acadian farms and homes were burned for no reason and in contravention to the surrender agreement negotiated by the Acadian priest with the English. Acadian soldiers were imprisoned in the church and the governor in his home. Belongings were stolen, and farmland was destroyed, severing any remaining shred of trust.

In Port Royal, the church and 28 homes were then burned, but not the mills and upriver farms.

Because François Girouard and Jeanne Aucoin lived at least somewhat upriver at what is now Tupperville, his farm may possibly have been spared, but based on later census where households have combined, it’s doubtful.

The English were now unquestionably in control and required a loyalty oath.

The Acadians in Port Royal relented when they had no other choice and swore an oath of allegiance, transcribed here, hoping to de-escalate the situation. Francois Girouard is not among the signers. Did he perish during this ordeal? Was he one of the 45 Acadians taken hostage and imprisoned in Boston? He would have been in his 70s and Jeanne would have been 59.

A few weeks later, two English pirates took advantage of the opportunity and burned homes again, killing people and livestock. I think some people just take pleasure in being cruel.

The 1693 census confirms François Girouard’s’ death and the combination of households by showing Jeanne Aucoin, now a widow, age 60, living in the same household with Julien Lord, her son-in-law, age 41, Charlotte, age 33, their 5 children, 20 cattle, 40 sheep and 10 hogs on 20 arpents of land

Son Jacob Giroud, age 46, lives two houses away with his 11 children, 25 cattle, 30 sheep, and 15 hogs on 20 arpents of land, with two guns.

They are living in what is known as the Girouard Village, which is today Tupperville.

A marker there states that Jeanne Aucoin and François Girourard were from what is now Granville Ferry, directly across from Annapolis Royal.

Granville Ferry isn’t far from the Lor/Lord land.

Beautiful Granville Ferry today looking from across the River in Port Royal.

Passing Over

Jeanne was lucky that she enjoyed the company of her sister, Michelle, for most of her life, on both sides of the Atlantic. Michelle died on December 17, 1706, and was buried the next day – just a few days before Christmas. She is noted as being more than 95 years old and the wife of Michel Boudrot.

Despite the many hardships and heartaches that Jeanne faced, she lived a long life. Her burial took place on April 18, 1718, in Port Royal, so she likely died the previous day. She is noted as more than 90 years old, the widow of “Girouer le Pere.”

The original parish records were clearly recopied, above, as the original is found in the Nova Scotia Archives and is shown below.

If Jeanne were 90, she would have been born in 1728, so 90 is close. Often the ages of the super-old are remembered as older than they are. Who would be left that remembered?

Jeanne would then have been buried along with her family members, close to her husband, sister, and children, in the Catholic churchyard’s cemetery at Port Royal. She rests among the unmarked graves in what is known as the Garrison Cemetery at today’s Annapolis Royal.

This may mark the end of Jeanne’s earthly life, but it certainly isn’t the end of her story.

Belle-Île-en-Mer

Jeanne would be happy to know that at least some of her descendants survived the forced deportations – the horrific, genocidal events that began in 1755.

Fortunately, those with some of the most arduous journeys left other types of records because any official records or registries were destroyed.

The Acadians were intentionally strewn to the winds by the English so those tenacious Acadians would not wind up together and continue causing trouble for their conquerors.

Jeanne’s grandson, Honoré Lore, my ancestor, was wandering around someplace in New England during this time, for more than three decades prior to settling in Quebec in the 1780s.

Not all Acadians were deported to the colonies, and some who arrived in some colonial locations were not accepted and ended up being shipped elsewhere.

After the Acadians were expelled, beginning in 1755, many began a long journey that culminated with their arrival back in France on the starkly beautiful, rocky island of Belle-Île-en-Mer in 1765.

It was an incredibly long, deadly, decade.

After their arrival on Belle-Île-en-Mer, the French were trying to figure out what to do with these Acadian refugees who had already been bounced from place to place and imprisoned because of their French heritage, so they asked each family about their ancestry. Fortunately for us, the refugees provided depositions about their family back to the original French settlers who had arrived in Nova Scotia more than a century and several generations earlier.

Today, their descendants, proud Acadians still, live on the island and keep their ancestors’ documents safe and their memory alive.

The 78 Acadian families settled in 120 villages in four regions on Belle-Île-en-Mer where many of the original homes can still be identified to the founding families, including the small stone home of Pierre Richard. Pierre eventually gave the home to his son a few years later when he subsequently left for the next frontier – Louisiana.

Two of Jeanne Aucoin’s descendants gave detailed depositions a dozen years after the 1755 removal when some of the Acadian people were first exiled to Virginia, then to England, then after 1763 to Belle-Île-en-Mer in France. The French government wanted to know as much as possible about the origins of the earliest family members of the Acadian refugees in order to determine who, by virtue of their French ancestry, was eligible for assistance.

Those depositions have been carefully preserved today and are available for their descendants to view..

Lucie LeBlanc Consantino’s website provides the translation of the original depositions which can still be found on Belle-Île-en-Mer, above. Cousin Brian is reviewing his ancestors’ documents with the assistance of Anne-Christine, our tour guide.

We find two depositions from descendants of François Girouard and his wife, Jeanne Aucoin:

On February 9, 1767, appeared Louis Courtin, farmer, living in the village of Aprens de Triboutons, Parish of Sauzon, who, in the presence of Simon P. Daigre, Joseph Babin, Jean Baptiste Le Blanc, and Armand Granger, all Acadians living on this island, stated that he was born in St. Nicolas de Prete Vales, County of Dunois, Diocese of Blois of Jean Baptiste (Courtin) and Marie Anne Pellereau, born at Blois, St. Honore Parish, married at Cork, Ireland on Sept 15, 1761, to Marie Josephe Martin, born at Port Royal in 1740, of Michel Martin and Magdeleine Girouard. Michel Martin issued from Etienne and Marie Comeau, and Etienne issues from Rene Martin, who came from France and married at Port Royal to Marguerite Landry. Both died there. Madeleine Girouard was born at Port Royal of Guillaume and Anne Renauchet. Guillaume issued from Jacques Girouard and Anne Gautrot of Port Royal and Jacques Girouard descended from another Jacques who came from France with Jeanne Aucoin, his wife; both died at Port Royal.

On February 9, 1767, appeared Pierre Richard, from Kbellec, in this Parish, who, in the presence of Honore LeBlanc, Joseph LeBlanc, Oliver Daigre, and Laurent Babin, all Acadians living on this island, witnesses and states that he was born at Port Royal principal town of Acadia on November 15, 1710, of Pierre (Richard) and Madeleine Girouard. Pierre Richard, Sr., died at Port Royal in 1726, son of Rene Richard and Magdeleine Landry, both died there. Rene Richard was the son of another Rene de San Souci who came from France, married at Port Royal to Magdeleine Blanchard, and both died there. Magdeleine Girouard died at Port Royal in 1752 and was the daughter of Jacques (Girouard) and Anne Gautrot, Jacques Girouard is issue of another Jacques dit La Varanne who came from France with his wife Jeanne Aucoin, who settled at Port Royal and both died there.

You might notice that these depositions state François Girouard’s name as Jacques. We can verify the accuracy of his wife and children’s names in the census, thereby confirming that his name was François. In the intervening generations, many devastating events had occurred. Their family had literally been torn apart and uprooted – children ripped from their mother’s arms during the deportation. We can forgive their descendants this error in memory three and four generations later.

What’s interesting here is the phrasing of the information regarding their arrival.

  • “…descended from another Jacques who came from France with Jeanne Aucoin, his wife.”
  • “Jacques dit La Varanne who came from France with his wife Jeanne Aucoin.”

Given that both of these descendants had been exiled together, it’s certainly possible that they had jointly misremembered François’s name or that somehow it hadn’t been passed down correctly. Perhaps his middle name was Jacques, or maybe genealogy just wasn’t that important when the English, then other French commanders, and then the English again, were continually attacking.

How are these people on Belle-Île-en-Mer descended from Jeanne Aucoin? I had to draw this out.

Both of Jeanne’s descendants that wound up back in France descended through son Jacques Girouard and Anne Gautrot who lived near his parents in Acadia. They were deported from Port Royal to Virginia, where the refugees were rejected. The Acadians were shipped to England a few months later, where they were held as prisoners of war for several years.

Regardless of how difficult farming was on hilly, rocky Belle-Île-en-Mer, the Acadians who first had to live in warehouses while things were sorted out, were grateful for anything.

Eventually, the Acadians were granted small portions of land equal to those of other settlers. They were able to build a 27-square-meter one-room house, about 270 square feet, with thatch or slate roofs.

In addition to the descendants of Jeanne Aucoin, several of the families also descended from her sister, Michelle.

Alexandre Aucoin from Mines declared that he descended from Alex Aucoin who died in 1759, the son of Martin Aucoin and Marie Gaudet, and that Martin Aucoin came from France and died with his wife at the Riviere aux Canaards. The relationship between that Martin and Jeanne’s father, Martin, if any, is unclear.

Today, this Acadian cross marks the location of a crossroads meeting location on Belle-Île-en-Mer where Acadians would gather to catch up on the neighborhood news.

The Cajuns, Acadians who traveled on to Louisiana, descend from these families, as do many families who still reside on Belle-Île-en-Mer and those who removed to Saint-Malo, Nantes, and elsewhere.

Pierre Richard

Jeanne, if you’re listening, I want to tell you about the life of your great-grandson, Pierre Richard. Surely you must wonder what happened to him.

Many of your great-grandchildren were scattered to the winds, but we know at least something about Pierre. You knew him as a baby. You held him, rocked him, and sang him beautiful French Acadian lullabies that Acadian women still sing to their children. He was born in 1710, so when you passed from the earth, he was 8 years old.

Pierre never forgot you. He told the story of how you and Francois “dit La Varanne” Girouard traveled from France to Acadia. Of course, when you were telling him the stories of that journey, he had no idea that he, himself, would one day travel back to France. In fact, he lived there and gave a deposition about your origins. I don’t think he knew you were born in La Rochelle 135 years earlier. If so, he didn’t include that in the deposition he provided after he was deported. I’m sure you would never, in your wildest dreams, have imagined that some of your descendants would one day live in France again.

Yes, sadly, Pierre Richard and his family were rounded up and expelled in 1755 from Pisiguit, first to the colonies and then to Liverpool, England in the summer of 1756, and then, back to France. Pierre’s first wife had died before they left England, and he remarried in Morlaix, France, on October 3, 1763, to Francoise Daigre. She had been held in Falmouth. Their child, Anselme Richard was born in Morlaix on February 2, 1765. Two decades later, in 1785, Anselme, his parents, and 3 of his siblings would sail on the ship, “Le Beaumont,” for Louisiana and settle there as Pierre’s final destination – but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Pierre was fortunate that he had not been separated from his wife and children when they were deported from Pisiguit in September of 1755. The family may have originally been sent to Philadelphia or Virginia, arriving two months later. Soon thereafter, 366 Acadians were sent to Liverpool, in England where they were held against their will as prisoners until the end of the Seven Years’ War. Put up after arrival in Liverpool in old potters’ workshops, they were greeted by deadly smallpox. Their numbers were reduced to 224 by the end of 1762.

While they couldn’t leave, they did receive 6 cents a day per adult, 3 cents for children each day, and $1.20 a year for lodging in prison quarters. Catholic parish records of a few Acadians have been found.

The Acadians petitioned to whomever might come to their assistance, and eventually, one of their messages reached the King of France who was impressed by their continued loyalty, despite their circumstances and what they had undergone.

On the last day of December 1762, the French envoy went to the Acadian prison quarters in Liverpool and informed the Acadians that the King had agreed to repatriate them to France. Raucous cheering broke out. “Long live the King.” The envoy recorded that, “They were beside themselves, clapping, raising their hands, hitting the walls, and crying like children.” So loudly that they alarmed the local residents.

That was one incredibly Happy New Year!

The King of France began to arrange for the repatriation of the Acadians, who were destitute and in great need, to both Morlaix and Saint-Malo on the Atlantic coast of France.

On June 7, 1763, the surviving Acadians boarded the king’s ship, L’Esturgeon, and sailed for Morlaix, France.

In July 1763, Brittany, who spoke a different language, proposed to bring the Acadians to Belle-Île-en-Mer, hoping the industrious Acadians would rebuild there.

By 1765, Pierre’s family had arrived on the beautiful island of Belle-Île-en-Mer, which, at that time, was war-torn as a result of English occupation. The King was seeking industrious farmers to repair and rebuild.

By this time, Pierre was 54 years old and surely tired of the constant strife. Initially, 78 families totaling 355 people lived in the King’s warehouses on Belle-Île-en-Mer as they awaited promised land, animals, and tools.

In 1766, Pierre was assigned his plot of land in Kerbellec in the Le Palais district. Although quite small – only 30 meters – an amount that could all be plowed in one day, the Acadians were grateful for their allotment and set about building small homes.

Recently, our group of Acadian descendants visited Belle-Île-en-Mer where we walked in the steps of the Acadians.

Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.

We visited the home where Pierre lived in a cluster of other Acadian families. Regardless of how many children Acadian families had, they all lived in a small house of this size. Some lucky people stored hay in the attic and teenage boys were allowed to sleep there.

Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.

Pierre chiseled the year, 1766, in the block above the doorway. He must have been oh-so-grateful to have any place to call home again.

Most of these homes are still in use, sometimes expanded by joining two small homes that were built sharing a wall.

Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.

The door was only as wide and tall as an adult, meaning a relatively small adult today.

Several Acadian families settled together, sometimes with their homes sharing walls, and usually surrounding a common area in front of their homes.

Photo courtesy cousin Brian Stevens.

This well, just a few feet across the common area, provided life-giving water to Pierre Richard and the families of his three adult children and others who settled there, along with their children and animals.

You can take a look for yourself in this video, with Claude Boudreau, the proprietor of Les Voyages DiasporAcadie, translating for Maryvonne Le Gac, a local Acadian.

Video courtesy of cousin Brian Stevens.

Jeanne, Pierre must have thought about what you went through in your life too. At first, Pierre, along with the rest of the incredibly homesick Acadians, dreamed of returning to their homelands but finally accepted the reality that their homes had been burned, their land was redistributed, and return was not a possibility.

Instead, a new Acadian settlement in Spanish Louisiana became the next dream, and many Acadians, Pierre being one of them, set out for Louisiana where he settled in Acadiana and died sometime after 1785, possibly in Baton Rouge in 1794.

Pierre Richard passed his land and home on Belle-Île-en-Mer to a son before leaving, so some of Pierre’s descendants live in Louisiana, while some continue the Acadian tradition on Belle-Île-en-Mer, hosting cousins who return to find their roots.

Bless this cousin for her hospitality and generosity – helping me find a warm coat for Jim. Oh, and perhaps a smattering of quilt fabric for me.

She even let Jim warm up in her car while she and I went shopping. That might have been just a tad dangerous:)

Did I mention how much fun we had?!!! I hope to see her again soon.

Jeanne Aucoin’s Mitochondrial DNA

We are fortunate to have Jeanne Aucoin’s mitochondrial DNA through her descendants.

Mitochondrial DNA is passed from women to both sexes of their offspring, but it is only passed on by females. Therefore, everyone who descends from Jeanne or Michelle Aucoin carries the mitochondrial DNA of their mother, Barbe Minguett. Several testers descend from one or the other sisters, and their mitochondrial DNA matches exactly.

Because of the lack of records during this time, we don’t have a marriage record for Martin Aucoin and Barbe Minguett, nor do we have Michelle’s baptism record. That means we don’t know for sure that Jeanne and Michelle share the same mother.

While mitochondrial DNA can’t prove with exact certainty that they share the same mother, an exact match can go a long way toward eliminating other possibilities.

If Barbe Minguett was not the mother of both Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin, and their mothers were sisters to each other, or closely related through their direct maternal lines, like perhaps first cousins, the mitochondrial DNA of their matrilineal descendants could and probably would still match. However, the fact that several dispensations of consanguinity in the marriage records of Michelle and Jeanne’s descendants who married, along with their mitochondrial DNA, confirms that, indeed, Jeanne and Michelle were sisters.

Jeanne and Michelle’s mitochondrial DNA falls into haplogroup H which is the most common haplogroup in Europe, although most people fall into a subgroup and the Aucoin sisters do not – at least not yet.

Most of their exact matches descend from people in North America, but at least one exact full sequence match descends from Jeanne Chevoleau who was born before 1760 in Venansault, Vendée, France. If accurate, Jeanne Chevoleau’s birth before 1760 eliminates the possibility that her parents were some of the displaced Acadian families who returned to the Atlantic coastal region of France after the 1763 Peace Treaty followed by the Acadian arrival in 1765.

Venansault isn’t far from La Rochelle where we find Barbe Minguett in the church records.

Other exact matches hail from different locations in France, multiple locations in Canada and the US, two in Bulgaria, and one each in Austria, Germany, Haiti, and Poland.

In addition to 29 exact matches, there are another 142 matches with either one or two differences, and some of those people also descend from the descendants of Michelle and Jeanne Aucoin.

Not every match has recorded their earliest known ancestor’s location so that it can be displayed on the Matches Map. If you descend from either Jeanne or Michelle Aucoin through all females to the current generation, which can be male, please order the mtFull test here, and complete your Earliest Known Ancestor information. You’ll find instructions here.

The Million Mito Team is refining haplogroups. After release, the new mitochondrial haplotree may further define and split Jeanne and Michelle Aucoin’s haplogroup. Some of the extra and missing mutations stem from unstable regions, but some do not, so we’ll see. There are 24 people who match this lineage exactly, and several descendants who have one, two, or three mutations difference. The new tree will assist with determining the age of the mutations.

We may also discover that the Aucoin sisters and their mother, Barbe Minguett, match some ancient DNA samples, which may provide more insight into the history of their and our ancestors.

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